


WHITECHAPEL- Serpent In The Garden

by Naughty_Fae (orphan_account), Salustra



Series: WHITECHAPEL [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: All Human/AU, M/M, historical crime, romance OOC. Graphic violence and gore, some M/M sexual content. First in a series of Whitechapel stories.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Naughty_Fae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salustra/pseuds/Salustra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twelve months since the last Ripper murder and Whitechapel is once again rocked by the brutal slaying of a prostitute. Has Jack returned?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in 1889-90s London. Historically researched, some dates/facts have been knowingly changed to facilitate the story.

**TITLE:WHITECHAPEL -** Serpent In The Garden. S/X The first story in the Whitechapel series. (Loosely based on BBC America's Ripper Street) This story is **pre-slash** the overall series is SLASH.

**Copyright Disclaimer** We do not own any characters, products or services depicted in this story. Original characters/characterization/ and this version are ours. Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel The Series characters are OOC and we cite section 107 of the US copyright clause on 'fair use' to be found [**HERE** ](http://www.copyright.gov/fls/fl102.html) No profit made.

**Pairing:** S/X (W/A)  
 **Rating:** NC17 For violence and violent depictions/situations and sexual situations.  
 **Unbeta'd:**  
 **Authors:** Naughty_Fae  & Salustra  
 **Status:** COMPLETE in 7 longer chapters. Posted daily until complete. 

**AN** Set in 1889-90s London. Historically researched, some dates/facts have been knowingly changed to facilitate the story.  
 **Comments:** Concrit welcomed.

NOT TO BE ARCHIVED PLEASE.

Some bobbies complained the waiting got to them, but it was Inspector Pratt's favorite part. He could feel the delicious edge of excitement and anticipation building. It was a simple rousting of a bawdy house, but it had become notorious for providing illicit substances to its customers then robbing them while in a weakened state. It would be satisfying after all the drudgery and muck involved in wading through the politics of his superiors while keeping his own men in line to simply indulge in some simple direct action.

Next to him stood his most trusted Sergeant. Sergeant Pryce. William Pratt trusted him completely. They'd gone to school together but Pryce had gone off to war and come back this lean and wiry wolf, capable of both cleverness and violence. He could see him quietly tensed as well, ready to spring, a cryptic half-smile on his face. 

Back in the heart of Whitechapel, a beefy man with magnificent muttonchops led a string of respectable people through the maze of streets. 

"Welcome to Whitechapel, gentlefolk. Be sure to keep a hand on your purse and an eye on the street, as both cutpurses and muck are thick hereabouts. If you will but follow me, I shall take you on a tour, as promised, of the haunts where The Ripper did his awful deeds. This way," he said, beckoning them to follow him into a narrow dark alleyway. 

His words never stopped as he walked, expounding on the Ripper and Whitechapel itself as they moved. Amused streetwalkers and other locals watched as the troop moved along. As they came over a slight incline, there was in the path, suddenly revealed in all its horror by the lamp of the guide, a dead body of a woman lying on the ground. There was no blood but her pallor, stillness, and the deep cut on her neck showed her to be most certainly dead. 

 

"Murder!" he shouted, turning back to his customers, and began herding them as fast as he could back the way they came. 

At eighteen constable Wells was one of the youngest bobbies that made up the 548 strong H division. It fell to them the unenviable task of policing the rookeries and fetid rabbit warren of seething tenements, gin shops, public houses, brothels, gambling and opium dens and worse that made up Whitechapel. 

He was on a mission as he ran headlong through the narrow streets still barely lit with gas lamps, tripping over cobbles and dodging hansom cabs in search of his Inspector. His helmet wobbled precariously on his head as he ran in the direction of The Brown Bear public house. The silver chain of his whistle stretched across his dark uniformed chest and glinted as he ran, his boots pounding on the cobbles.

He rounded the corner and saw a group of his comrades in a huddle hidden in the shadows waiting to enter the bawdy house. He ran up to them, his fresh face eager with excitement and tried to push toward his Inspector.

"'Ere now, young Wells," hissed a heavily bearded constable grasping his arms. "What do you think you're about m' lad? Like to spoil the Inspector's raid?"

"They've sent me from Leman Street with an urgent message for Inspector Pratt." he gasped out breathlessly."I have to talk to him."

"Leman Street eh?" The constable released his grip."Best be about your business then."

Anxiously Wells pushed his way through his comrades."Inspector, Inspector Pratt Sir."

Pratt caught the disturbance from the rear and gave the tiniest of glances backward. Must be important, he thought, as the young and earnest Constable Wells pushed through the crowd. If the Inspector were inclined to play favorites, Andrew Wells would likely be one. He was almost a bit of a mascot for the Division. He was a swift learner and very clever and almost embarrassingly eager to please. 

"Yes, Wells?" He said, tone with just enough gruffness to show he was not prepared to tolerate an interruption for mere nonsense.

"Inspector Sir," Wells gasped out, searching the Inspector's face with an intense gaze. "They've found a tart dead in Finkle Street, Sir. " He paused to give his words time to register. He dropped his voice. "She's been cut Sir. You'd best come at once."

Inspector Pratt nodded, and gave a glance to Pryce. Pryce gave a little nod. He'd heard. Pratt looked at the men, then turned to Sergeant Livegood. "Sergeant, you take charge here. Pryce, with me. Wells, you're to head back to Leman Street and tell them on my instructions to send twenty hard men at once to close off that part of Finkle Street." 

Wells nodded eagerly, so much so his helmet slipped and he pushed it back and firmly onto his head. "Yes Sir, he acknowledged and made his way back to the edge of the group and began to run as fast as he could the way he'd come.

 

Pratt and Pryce made their way back towards Finkle Street. By the time they'd arrived, the men the Inspector requested were there and he left Pryce in command of them with orders to keep the streets blocked; and to reinforce the poor few devils who had been trying to hold back the frightened mob since the body had been discovered. 

Pratt made his way up the narrow alleyway, and saw the poor girl lying there, and a man with a tripod and camera busily photographing her. Ah, the vultures of the press had begun to descend already. "Who do you work for?" He barked. 

Albert Smallwood looked up as the Inspector spoke to him and answered in a somewhat disgruntled tone. 

"The Star, Sir. Not doing no harm, " he pulled one thin shoulder into a shrug and flicked his hair from his eyes, " just taking a few photographs for the paper. Mr. McDonald's orders."

"Well you're on my payroll as well now. I want pictures of her, of the street each way, and the area around her body."

Pratt tried not to let his dislike of McDonald color his tone of voice. Lindsey McDonald was one of the lowest examples of a generally low trade, the tabloid reporter. He splashed lurid tales of murder and scandal across his pages with little regard for the truth. And he was a constant thorn in Pratt's side.

"I shall expect them before morning." 

By this time Pryce had made it to his side, and Pratt ignored the greasy little man in favor of speaking to his sergeant. "No blood here, Pryce," he said. "She was slain elsewhere and brought here. And no blood on her clothes. Help me try to look for how she was brought in." 

Pryce shook his head. "Sir, we've not but a few moments til the lads won't be able to hold them back. We need to clear the scene." 

Pratt scowled. "Well then, Sergeant, we'll need to move her body. This fellow here is taking photographs, your name, sir?" 

"Albert Smallwood." 

"Mr.Smallwood shall get us the photographs. So at least we'll have that..." 

"Sir!" Pryce interjected. "The wall!" On the wall was written, quite obviously in blood, 'down on whores'. "Just like the Ripper." 

Pratt noted with a nod and his scowl deepened. "Might simply being someone trying to counterfeit the Ripper, Sergeant. There is too much here that is wrong. Here, let's get her out of here."

He scooped up her limp body and headed down the alleyway, away from where the crowds had gathered. Then he handed the body carefully over to Pryce. "Take her back to Leman Street, put her in a cell away from others and keep watch. I go to fetch a surgeon." 

Pryce took the body and nodded, but he raised an eyebrow and sighed softly. "The American, Sir? But he's not even one of ours." 

"He's the best available and I shall have him," Pratt said. "Now off with you." The inspector turned and walked back in the direction of the crowds, hoping to head off the reporters for a few minutes at any rate. He sighed as he saw McDonald at the very front of the crowd. 

"Evening Inspector," McDonald touched his hat and stepped forward, "well this is a rum do and no mistake. Looks like Jack's made his return, have you ought to comment on it? Is it him inspector?" Behind him the crowd pressed forward. "Is it Jack?" He pressed.

Pratt raised a contemptuous eyebrow at McDonald. McDonald was reputed to be a bit of a lad, but when he was reporting he was simply a persistent annoyance. Pratt failed to see his appeal to the ladies. 

"Perhaps, as a conscientious member of the press, you should wait until there's been an investigation. At any rate I shan't comment until we know more." He tried to push on past McDonald and through the crowd. He needed to find Harris and quickly. 

McDonald watched his receding back. "Let's hope you have more luck than last time eh, Inspector!" He yelled and smirked after him as he scribbled feverishly in his notebook. Pratt thought he was better than he was but he was just another plod. Writing on the wall in the tart's blood had been a brilliant brainwave and it was obvious to a blind man that Jack was at work again, even if Pratt wanted to deny it. This time he was in the thick of things and he aimed to stay there.

 

The small room at the rear of Darla's bawdy house was hot and tension filled. It was illuminated by gas mantles on the wall and a lamp set in the middle of the green baize card table. The air hung thick with the fog of cigar smoke, whisky and sweat. Five men sat around the table in their shirt sleeves studying their cards, the pot lay in the middle of the table. Alexander Harris suck out like a sore thumb. From the red bandana he wore around his neck, leather edged jacket and cowboy boots to the soft slouch hat pushed back on his dark head he was obviously _American._ He chewed on the end of a match and rocked his wooden chair back on two legs. His dark eyes flicked up from his cards to the faces of the four men watching him intently and back to his cards. A flush. 2, 3, 7, 9, jack of diamonds, not a bad hand, but not brilliant. Question was, was it good enough?

"Fer God's sake Harris!" A large man addressed him in exasperated tones."How much longer?"

Alex spit his match to the floor. "Now Ted, you know I gotta think things through a mite......"

Alex rocked onto all four legs of his chair. The front door of Darla's bawdy house opened with a bang. "Harris!" William called out. The gentlemen in the parlor all glanced up apprehensively, but when William didn't so much as look their direction they all relaxed. 

A very smartly dressed blonde woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She settled her hands on her hips and her eyes flashed with anger. "Inspector Pratt, you cannot simply barge in here anytime you please!" 

Pratt looked up at the woman. "Mrs. Long, your house continues to operate by my good will. So yes, I shall barge in as I please. Now where is your errant nephew?"

Darla Long sighed. "He's in the back playing at cards, as usual. Do try to have him back before sunrise. He gets very cross without a proper breakfast and a good day's sleep." 

Pratt touched the brim of his hat and for the first time that evening he had a small grin and slight twinkle in his eye. He found Mrs.Long quite amusing at times. "I'll do my best, ma'am." He made his way to the backroom and clapped his hand on Harris' shoulder. The man was always at cards or drinking or both, it wasn't a healthy life. "Harris!" He said, too loudly for the small space. "I have need of you." 

Alex cringed, he'd heard that before and why were the English always shouting? He looked up with a scowl. "I ain't deaf Inspector. Can't you see I'm busy?" He gestured to the table. "Can't it wait until tomorrow, or the day after would be better." Wasn't likely Pratt would bust him for playing cards - cheating maybe...........

"Now, Harris. A young girl's been killed and I've need of your skills as a surgeon." William felt almost like he was scolding a child and dragging them off to lessons. 

Alex looked at his cards, it was a good hand. "You've got police surgeons for that." He knew it was useless even as he heard the words come out of his mouth.

The Inspector's hand tightened on his shoulder and his eyes narrowed, the blond pain in the ass meant it.

"Okay, okay." He folded his cards and set them face down on the table. He adjusted his hat on his head. "Sorry to love and leave you gents," he pushed to his feet and scooped up his money, "my duty as a good citizen calls."

They didn't look unhappy. He trailed Pratt out of the room muttering under his breath. "That was a good hand you limey bastard."

Pratt spun around with a scowl. "What?"

"I have to get my bag," Alex gestured with a weak smile.

Pratt just nodded at that. He knew that Alex himself was fond of drink but he made it a habit not to get drunk while playing cards. So William was certain the good doctor was up to the task. He had to give another small smile as he trailed behind him to his 'surgery' to retrieve the bag. It was of course an irony the best surgeon in Whitechapel lodged in his aunt's bawdy house and made his living gambling and taking care of small ailments in a makeshift surgery that had been set up in a room downstairs at the bawdy house. Such oddities made Whitechapel interesting, Pratt thought. Surely the duties of the city police would be boring by comparison. 

As they walked towards the police station, William spoke to Alex in hushed but urgent tones. "I'm trying to prevent mob madness and riot in the streets, Harris. You remember how it was with the Ripper. The press and the people are so ready to assume it's Him come again but I don't think it is. And I need a competent surgeon to do the examination who will look at facts and not start with a conclusion and try to prove it." 

Alex shot him a glance, time was he too had been a suspect, though more in Chief Inspector Fred Abberline's than William Pratt's mind. "Fred Abberline gets wind of it you'll have a hard job convincing him it's not Jack." He raised an eyebrow. "Man's obsessed. I'll do your autopsy and tell you the truth of it. And just for the record, I was at Darla's all last night playing cards and have half a dozen men and a house full of tarts can bear witness to it."

Pratt gave a slight smile. "Of that I have no doubt, Harris. Your passion for cards is legendary, and I saw the pile of notes you raked off the table as I pulled you away. I am sorry to deprive you of the triumph of a good hand. What was it, out of curiosity?" Harris had proved these last few months to be one of the few men Pratt felt comfortable with. Something about the American was reassuring to him, and Pratt had come to consider him a friend.

Alex gave a small sound of distress deep in his throat. "A flush. 2, 3, 7, 9, jack of diamonds, a good hand, probably a winning one." He cast William a patient look. "You look tired, sleeping okay?"

"Too much to do," replied William. "I've taken to spending the occasional night on the cot in my office. It seems almost every time I go home someone comes to drag me from bed for duty." His lips quirked slightly into a wry smile. "I think you're familiar with that sensation." 

Xander chuckled and nodded. Theirs was a tense, sometimes abrasive friendship that had started a year earlier when Abberline dragged him in as a Ripper suspect for no other reason than he was a doctor, American and lodged with tarts. Pratt had been on his side and they'd formed an alliance of sorts. With his past it was easier to have Pratt on his side than against him, but William Pratt wasn't the kind of man you got to know overnight. There again, neither was he.

They reached the police station, and as they entered the Desk Sergeant, Doyle, called Inspector Pratt over. "It has come to my attention that we have an unregistered female on the premises," he said with an impish twinkle in his eye. 

Alex stopped just inside the doorway and scanned the notice board for anything as might appertain to him or Darla, but found nothing. If anything untoward was coming their way, he wanted to know of it.

Pratt chuckled softly. "I shall see that she's properly handled, Sergeant, thank you." 

"Just reminding you of our lawful duties, Inspector. We shouldn't wish others to think this a place of ill-repute." 

"Definitely not, Sergeant." William turned back to Alex and led him through to the cells in the back, seldom used, small and cool with stone walls. The dead woman lay on the floor in one of the cells, Sergeant Pryce keeping watch over her.

"Didn't see anyone as followed me, Inspector," Pryce said. "I think all the reporters was after you." 

Pratt nodded. "Excellent." He turned to Alex. "Well, doctor, let us know what you need. The sooner we know the truth here the better. It will only be a matter of time before someone gets word up the grapevine and I would beat Abberline to the punch on this." Pratt owed Doyle thanks for his well-concealed warning that some of Abberline's boys knew about the body. 

Alex moved around looking at the body. He took off his hat and set it on the small table with his battered leather bag. "I'll need more light," he commented grimly as he rolled up his sleeves. He was a curious man, a man of science and a chemist as well as a surgeon. Autopsy was a somber business and not one he enjoyed, though the one Pratt most often called upon him to perform. He bent and looked at the body, the first thing striking him was the lack of blood on her clothing. He moved to the table and opened his battered, brown leather bag. "Remove her clothes Sergeant Pryce, if you please."


	2. Chapter 2

Pryce shot Alex a hard look and then moved beside the body and crouched down and began to remove her clothing. The doctor joined him.

"Gently man, " he chided, " Jesus Pryce, no wonder you're not married."

Pryce snorted and between them they soon had her stripped. They pushed to their feet and Pryce stepped back beside Pratt and Alex stood a moment and studied the corpse with a grim expression and pursed lips.

"There's remarkably little blood, " he muttered almost to himself and then reached across and took a scalpel from his bag and glanced at his companions. "Well gentlemen, let's see what this poor unfortunate woman has to tell us."

Half an hour later the autopsy was complete and Alex put the final stitch closing her abdomen.

They heard shouting and the noise of a commotion from beyond the cells. Wells stuck his head around the outer door. "Sergeant Doyle says as you're to know Chief Inspector Abberline is come." He ducked back as a raised, gruff voice reached them.

"Pratt! Inspector Pratt answer me if you please!"

An older, heavier built gentleman with grey side whiskers and a dark frock coat appeared.

He took in the scene and scowled, striding toward the cell. "Good God man what's this? You and you," he gestured toward Sergeant Pryce and Alex. "Out, now!" He turned toward Pratt. "What in God's name is the American doing here?"

Pratt gestured with his head for Pryce and Harris to leave. It would do no good for them to be caught in his turf battle with Abberline. "He is my American, here at my request. He's the best surgeon available. We have a difficult case here requiring delicate handling and an expert opinion." His expression was firm but he held onto his temper. He was sorely tempted to give it reign but it seldom did him good in dealing with those senior to him. 

Alex followed Pryce from the cell, his dealings with the irascible Chief Inspector Abberline had left a bitter taste in his mouth which he wasn't keen to revisit. He rubbed his hands on a rag and rolled down his sleeves.

Abberline peered into the cell and then glared at Pratt, squaring his shoulders.. "She's been cut!" He gestured at the corpse. "You know that any that's been cut is mine to deal with. "

"With the greatest respect, Inspector, she is not necessarily a victim of the Ripper. There were differences even at the scene. If you will but let me call my American back in here, he can tell you what he has found. I am dealing in facts, Inspector, I will not start with a conclusion before I have heard the facts." Pratt was exasperated, and he knew his tone now almost resembled a teacher speaking to a very dim student and he couldn't help himself. Abberline was a plodder at best and obsessed with the Ripper. 

"It's not Jack." Alex said quietly from where he stood near the door. He looked between the two men. "Well, not unless he's drastically changed his MO and taken lessons in surgery."

Abberline's head snapped toward him and he scowled. "What clairvoyant now, doctor?" He asked in a scathing tone. "Her throat's been cut and she's been gutted!" He gestured wildly.

Calmly Alex walked forward. "I opened her as part of my postmortem and her throat was cut after she was dead, quite a long time after actually, it's not what killed her."

"Then what did?" Abberline challenged.

"Hyoid bone's broken." Alex stated with a cock of his head.

Pratt frowned."She was strangled?"

Alex nodded and moved back into the cell. "See the cuts, breasts, thighs, stomach, face , they were done while she was alive by someone who knew what they were about. The blade was sharp, probably a scalpel. The skin is sliced not dragged. The wounds were made to cause pain but little blood loss and not life threatening."

"Torture," Pryce commented grimly.

"He wanted her to suffer." Alex continued,"too much pain, blood loss and she'd be unconscious. See the bruising here? " He pointed to the inner elbow and across her abdomen. "And across her stomach? She was strapped down and she struggled. She was also vigorously serviced before she died." He paused."My guess, snatched off the street and taken somewhere where he could work undisturbed, stripped, eventually strangled, dressed, throat cut and left in the alley. That's why there's almost no blood, she bled out elsewhere."

"Still could be the Ripper. There was always speculation he was a doctor, as you know," Abberline grumbled, glaring at Harris. "Just took more time with this one, he's gotten better at it. She's just another harlot cut up and left for us to find." 

"Doctor?" Xander flared. "More like a butcher as you and I discussed at some length Chief Inspector. Besides, she wasn't a tart. She's what 23, 24 ? By that age their," he glanced around, "female parts are all slack through being well used. No, she wasn't a tart. " His brow furrowed."She has deposits of soot in her hair and stains on her fingers as if she worked with chemicals, maybe."

"Well, Mr.Harris, I assume you'd be more familiar with the female parts of harlots than I, given your lodgings. But these are not enough to prove your case. She might still have been taken by the Ripper. I give you both twenty-four hours to come up with some proof or at least a name, or I am pulling rank on you, Inspector Pratt, and taking her. You have been warned." Abberline glared at all of them before storming out.

 

"Well, that was a pleasant visit," Pryce said wryly. "What now, Inspector?" 

"Now we try to trace her employer. We shall have to venture up to the corporation land, most likely, and check persons missing and their employment. I shall go out now to recover the photographs taken at the scene by that wretched little photographer. Pryce, you're coming with me, get yourself a few hours rest. We'll leave in time to catch whichever train leaves in that underground tunnel after 6am." Pratt turned to Harris. "No need for you to bother with the paperwork, digging we shall do. If I've further need of you as a surgeon, though, you'll see me soon enough." 

"I have no doubt of that," Alex mumbled under his breath and then louder in Pratt's direction."You best find out where she's from Pratt, Abberline don't like me an' he's itchin' to pin somethin' on me."

Pratt opened his mouth to make the remark that it wouldn't be difficult but Alex cut him off....

"An' another thing, I don't get paid to do this y'know." He gestured with his hand."Every time you takes it into your head to haul me in here from a card game or goin' about my lawful trade selling medicines to the poor............"

"Quack remedies," Pryce interjected.

Alex hands fisted on his hips and he glared at Pryce. "I'll have you know them is good quality...." He protested.

"Enough!" Pratt intervened sharply. "Just go, Harris and be thankful I don't arrest you." William threatened tiredly.

Xander pushed his hat down onto his head, scowled and left muttering under his breath.

 

Darla growled at Alex and glared at him, her eyes flashing angrily. "Are you mad? Are you trying to get us arrested helping Pratt?"

"Now Darla," Alex tried to pacify her,"it's not like I have a choice in the matter. If I refuse to help him he's likely to show his interest in us more keenly, not less." 

She huffed and turned away. "I don't like it, he only has to discover who we are and what we've done and what price your friendship then?" She hissed.

Alex strode up behind her. "All the more reason to keep him close and watch him. May I remind you dear aunt it was your idea to stay in London and not continue to Liverpool or Manchester. The ideal seething cesspool for us to hide in you said. Only we're not hiding anymore, we live here. This bawdy house operates because Pratt lets it, I scratch his back and he scratches ours. "

Darla turned, her face tight and grim."May I remind you nephew, that it's not just your neck at stake."

"And I'd sooner have Pratt as a friend because if he's not he's an enemy and a bad one to have." He warned calmly.

 

Inspector Pratt was boiling mad by the time he came back from collecting the photographs. The sly cur of a man had tried to hide photos that showed the wall was clean before McDonald swooped in and started painting the wall himself in blood. Well, one piece of evidence helping to disprove the Ripper assumption at any rate. He made a note to find some way to pay the wretched McDonald back for this little stunt.

There was little time to rest before the train. He looked in the small wardrobe in his office and luckily he still had one clean suit. He would *have* to venture home tonight to get clean suits and have the others sent to be laundered. He took off his shoes and jacket, and enough of his clothing to sleep comfortably and still be decent. He pulled a thick blanket over himself and settled down to sleep. 

The next morning he changed into his last clean suit and waited for Pryce to arrive. In the meantime he sipped his morning cup of coffee, bitter and strong, summoning up the energy to get through the day. In due time, Pryce arrived, munching the crust of some sort of pie, no doubt eaten as he walked in as his morning meal. For all that, he managed not to have a crumb or a spot of filling anywhere on him. It was a gift he seemed to possess. 

The morning trawl through the records started easily enough. There were only a certain number of chemists to be found, even in wealthier neighborhoods such as were to be found on corporation land. But then came the difficulty, that of going to find out who was missing. It would surely require them to make a polite official visit to the city police there and the thought set Pratt's teeth on edge. But he squared his shoulders and stepped into the local police station with Pryce close behind. 

"Ah, the infamous Inspector Pratt of Division H," A well-dressed man said as they entered. He looked like a toff with his perfectly tailored suit and top hat. "I'm Inspector Ressler and in case you are lost, Sir, this is well out of your Division. Indeed this is out of the purview of the Metropolitan police altogether and is rightly the City Police's territory. So what could you be doing here, I ask myself?" 

Pratt sat hard on his temper and answered evenly. "We have a dead girl, horribly done by, resting in a cell in our division, and all signs point to her working on corporation land. A few simple questions will satisfy our needs and then we can be on our way back to Whitechapel." 

Ressler scowled. "Very well. Your questions?" 

"The girl we have seems as if she might work in a chemist's shop. Have you any female employees of chemists reported missing?" 

Ressler raised an eyebrow. "Curiously enough, yes. As of a few days ago. If you wish to question her employer, though, I shall have to insist on coming along." 

Pratt nodded. "Of course."

 

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the chemist's place. It looked respectable enough, especially with the surgery directly next to it. The sign on the chemist's shop read 'Ashdown's', while the surgery next to it listed Dr.Warren Mears as the doctor. There was also a pleasant walkway apparently leading to the large building behind these two places of business, and a small sign that said, 'Mears Boarding House for Respectable Women, Mrs. Warren Mears prop.' Inspector Pratt took it all in. A man of business and property, so it seemed, this Mears. He looked at Inspector Ressler. "Your turf, Inspector. Are we more likely to find the good doctor in his surgery or at the chemist's?" 

"I should imagine the former," Ressler said. 

Pratt nodded and the three of them made their way towards the surgery. They knocked on the door and a young man answered. "Yes, may I help you gentleman?"

Pratt nodded. "Inspectors Ressler and Pratt to speak to Dr. Mears on the matter of his missing employee." 

"Oh, good," the young man said. "Dr. Mears is very anxious over her disappearance. Right this way, sirs, I'll let him know you are here." 

The young man ducked out and a few moments later an older gentleman appeared, slender but with a round face and swarthy complexion, dark hair and eyes and long side whiskers. His sleeves were partly rolled up and he rubbed his hands with a cloth. His eyes darted anxiously between the two Inspectors and seeing Ressler the better dressed, he spoke directly to him.

"I am Doctor Mears, Jonathan informs me that you wish to speak to me. Is it about Lucy? I've been so worried you see." He hurried on, tossing the cloth aside. "We both have, my dear wife and I. It's just not like her to disappear like this, " his brow furrowed, "such a pleasant, responsible young woman."

Pratt inclined his head respectfully. "We've not come with good tidings then, I'm afraid. A woman was found in Whitechapel roughly matching the description of your employee. Could you look at the photograph, please, and tell me if this is she?" He held out a photograph, the one that was a close-up of her face. 

Mears took the photograph from him but gave it the barest of glances and gasped. He staggered and Jonathan grasped his employer's elbow.

"Steady doctor."

Mears pushed the photograph back into Pratt's hand, "It is she," his voice broke, " it is our own sweet Lucy." He shook off Jonathan's grasp. "I fail to comprehend, " he scowled, "what would a decent young woman like Lucy be doing in a place like Whitechapel?"

Pratt gave the doctor a sympathetic look. "Perhaps she dwelt there, sir, or had family or other acquaintances in the vicinity. Is there any family of hers that you know of?" 

Mears dark eyes flicked to the Inspector's face. "That's impossible Inspector, Lucy was quite alone in the world." He shifted his weight. "Mrs Mears and I have not been blessed with our own family, " he began, "so I endeavor to employ young women who might be," he hesitated, "vulnerable in today's society. As part of their employ we try to be a family to them. " He smiled and gestured,. "A safe haven if you will and as such they lodge with us at the boarding house my wife runs and are treated in every way as part of the family. Do you see Inspector? " He looked at him earnestly. "Lucy had no reason to be in Whitechapel, none at all. My poor wife will be devastated."

There was a false note that pinged on Pratt's senses. He couldn't nail it down but something was off with the good doctor. "I am truly sorry for your loss then, doctor. Would you care to see to her burial then, at such time as her death is no longer police business?" Then it hit him. The doctor hadn't asked how she died. The photograph didn't make it obvious and Pratt hadn't mentioned the manner of her death. 

"Yes, of course," Mears nodded, "you will let us know when we may proceed?"

"Of course, doctor. I'd also like a chance to speak to the young ladies who board with you, might you arrange some time soon, perhaps this evening, when all will be present? I'm assuming your wife serves a common dinner for all." 

"She does Inspector, but is it really necessary?" The doctor's eyes moved between the men. "We have but three young ladies lodging with us at present and I would not like to see them upset. My wife and I can answer any questions about Lucy."

"I'm afraid it is necessary, doctor. I apologize for the imposition but perhaps one of them may answer the question you were unable to, that is to say, why she was in Whitechapel. Young woman tell each other secrets, I have found, and so they might know things useful to our inquiry." His tone was polite but insistent. Pratt was certain, now, that Dr. Mears was concealing something. 

Mears looked unhappy but inclined his head. "Of course Inspector you know your business best. I merely wished to spare my young ladies as much pain as possible, murder is such a ghastly business. But I see it is inevitable. " His voice held a note of resignation. "My wife serves dinner at seven."

Well that cemented it in Pratt's mind. He hadn't mentioned murder. But to confront the doctor right now was foolish. He'd wait til the meeting tonight, when he had more ammunition. "Thank you, Dr. Mears. I will be here with Sergeant Pryce at seven this evening." 

Damn, Mears hoped it would be the other, less curious man."Of course Inspector.We shall expect you. Jonathan will show you out...."

As they left, Pratt looked over at Inspector Ressler. "You noted, I hope, that Dr. Mears mentioned murder when not one of us had given him the manner of her death? I suspect Dr. Mears of involvement, Inspector Ressler, and I shall hope for you cooperation in this investigation." 

Inspector Ressler nodded. "Of course, Inspector. I'll let my men know you are coming tonight. We can't have this sort of outrageous behavior in this respectable area." 

Pratt gave a thin smile. "Thank you Inspector. I appreciate the cooperation." Pratt relaxed slightly. At least the Inspector wasn't making it difficult for them.....


	3. Chapter 3

The trawl through various stores of paperwork and other sources of written information was wearying. The Inspector spent what time he could spare, but the normal business of the division still needed taking care. It was poor Wells and a few newly minted PCs even younger and greener than he that were assigned the bulk of the work. 

But after hours of searching, a pattern began to emerge. Five female employees of Dr. Mears or of his wife had died by misadventure within the past few years. And in each case, Dr. Mears held a life insurance policy for them which paid out handsomely for the Doctor. 

As the autopsy files were brought to him, Pratt shuddered a bit at the implications. "Pryce!" He barked. "Go fetch Dr. Harris from wherever he's hiding. I have need of his advice on some medical issues." 

Pryce scowled a bit but headed off to find Harris. Pryce took a fair amount of private pleasure in forcibly grabbing the Inspector's American surgeon out of a card game and all but dragging him down to the police station.

Alexander gestured wildly as he trailed behind Pryce into the police station. "And another thing Sergeant Pryce, was it absolutely necessary to haul me away from my card game?" He protested loudly putting his hands on his hips. "I had a good hand. I could have won with that hand, would it have hurt to wait a few minutes instead of threatening to bust everybody? I have a reputation to uphold y'know and quite frankly............"

Pryce spun around and growled at him.

"What? " Xander held up his hands, "just sayin'."

Pratt sighed very softly and then gestured to Harris to come join him. "Again, Harris, I am terribly sorry we keep interrupting your chosen profession, but we have only a short time left to us to get the ammunition we need to break our suspect when we go to interrogate him tonight. Oh," he paused. "We're to meet Dr. Mears and his wife and three employees in a few hours." Pratt waved off Xander's spluttered protests and explained to him the results of the investigation thus far. "So, my good fellow, we need you to examine these autopsy reports and tell us if it possible these employees were in fact murdered instead of being the victims of accidents." 

Alexander pushed his hat back on his head, he didn't really mind helping Pratt and his protests were more on principle than practice. His circumstances demanded that he at least make a token protest and it was fun yanking Pryce's chain. "Okay, " he waggled his index finger at the blond, "just this once, but remember it ain't like you're paying me or nuthin'." A shadow of a smile appeared around his mouth and he gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I'll take a look at your autopsy reports and see what I come up with."

"Thank you, Harris. After all, you're no more keen than I to have Chief Inspector Abberline take up the Ripper cases again." From anyone else that might have been a jibe, but from Pratt it was simple truth. He could tell Harris was hiding something, but it wasn't that he was the Ripper. Abberline was like an old dog with a bone. He made no distinction between great crimes and small. No imagination, that one. Pratt, on the other hand, knew from the daily nonsense of dealing with the streets of Whitechapel that there were small crimes that could be winked at so long as no one was hurt and great ones that needed to be removed like one removed rotten food and fouled water. 

Alexander settled himself at he table on a wooden chair. There were several buff-colored flat files before him that contained the autopsies of five young women who had all stayed at the Mears guest house and, or worked for the good doctor and met with sad, untimely deaths. The number alone would be suspicious if they had not taken place over several years and each seemed plausible accidents. The first thing he noticed was that they all fell into the ages of twenty to twenty five and all in good health, mental and physical before their deaths. There was nothing to link them by coloring of hair or eyes, build or height, but they had all been attractive, pretty rather than beautiful.

He worked his way through each one, slowly and methodically. His progress was hindered by the fact that the autopsies were all done by different doctors, whoever was to hand at the time. Some were sketchy and token in nature with one, perhaps two photographs. Others went into more depth and had several photographs. He made notes of discrepancies as he worked and he was shocked to find that seemingly suspicious findings were ignored and reports entered as ' accidental death'. Of course that was easier than appearing in court as an expert witness. In the end he had three glaring pointers to more than accidental death. One girl drowned with no water in her lungs, one girl reported as having a cherry red skin and another fallen from a height with hardly a bone in her body broken. Pratt needed to know.

As Harris pushed the files back, Pratt couldn't contain his curiosity. "Well, sir, what do you conclude? Or is there not enough there for conclusion in either direction?" 

"First of all you need better doctors, or at least someone who gives a damn and writes up proper reports these are pitiful." He gestured to the files. "At any rate two of them I can't say, " he shook his head, "one way or the other the evidence just isn't there." He watched Pratt's face fall and leaned forward. "But the other three were no accidents." Pratt's blue eyes flicked to his face, "One girl drowned miraculously with no water in her lungs, another fell from a height and only broke her wrist and a couple of ribs another had a ruddy skin which is a sure sign of gas poisoning. With Lucy that's four out of six likely murder."

"Well it gives us something to brace him with tonight. As for better doctors, well, Harris, you're a damn sight better than any of the drunks and plodders we generally are stuck with. What will it take to entice you to make it official? I can't have sloppy and uncaring surgeons spoiling my investigations." 

Alex pushed his chair back onto two legs and chuckled. "You can't afford me Pratt. I'd need a dead room with a proper autopsy table and drainage. Cupboards and drawers to keep my equipment in, a sink, hot running water and a tiled floor and financial recompense for my time."

William tilted his head and looked at Alex, considering. "I'll see what I can do," he answered in all seriousness, then chuckled. He probably couldn't afford him, true. But it was good of Alex to give him decent terms. He then let out a sigh. "We've only a short time before we must leave for the Mears'. So if you wish to freshen up, best do it quickly."

Alex set the chair on its legs and pushed to his feet. "Thanks, won't be but half an hour."

The walk from the police station to the bawdy house was a short one and Alex was soon pushing the door open. Several of the girls were entertaining gentlemen in the parlor and as Alex mounted the stairs, Darla appeared at the head, a sour expression on her face, one hand on her hip the other on the balustrade. "What did Sergeant Pryce want?" She asked as Alex stopped beside her.

He took his hat off. "I'm helping Pratt with the girl they found in the alley."

Darla arched an eyebrow. "Was she Ripper? Do I have to start frisking the Johns again for knives?"

"Nah," he shook his head, "she wasn't Ripper."

She nodded. "Are you in for the evening?"

"No I'm going with Pratt to interview a suspect, just came to get cleaned up." He gestured toward his room.

Her expression tightened and she pursed her lips. "I don't like it Alex, you're getting too cozy with him."

Alex pushed by her with a sigh. "And I told you Darla, he's better as a friend than an enemy......."

 

It was a fair enough evening as they set out for corporate land to drop in on the Mears. Pryce grumbled and complained as they descended into the underground for the train north. "Infernal depths, Inspector, you mark me, these tunnels will be the death of many a pour soul." 

The Inspector chuckled softly. "No doubt, sergeant, but it is the most rapid way to reach corporation land." He handed thick red bandannas to them. Then he moved off in a steady clip towards the train. Once inside, he began wrapping his own bandanna, and they tied theirs as he'd told them to. The bandannas would keep the thick, acrid soot from their lungs.

Alex took some coaxing, for once he agreed with Pryce that no good would come of traveling in a hole in the ground. If God had wanted it to be so, they'd all be moles. Pratt cajoled, quickly lost patience and pushed him aboard the coach. The ride out was largely quiet, as he and Pryce sulked. 

The train ride was short enough, but it neared full dark as they made their way to the Mears' house. "This is a delicate thing we do here," Pratt said. "First we talk to the ladies. If any seem like they know something one of us must draw them aside and talk privately. I will save bracing Mears himself until before we leave." He glanced at Pryce. "I'll need you outdoors, keeping an eye on the house as we work. Perhaps our presence will force some rats to scuttle out." 

Pryce nodded. "So no dinner then?" 

Pratt chuckled. "We'll stop at a public house, Sergeant, and I shall stand you the cost of a good meal there." His eyes twinkled a bit. 

Pryce nodded with a small bark of a laugh. "Very well then, Inspector, but it will cost you." He gave a slight smile in return. 

Alex straightened his clothes, not that he'd actually changed just washed his hands and face. He pretended not to notice Pratt's disapproving looks when he arrived back at the police station. He wondered idly if he'd get stood dinner as well. "Maybe I ought to speak to the young ladies, being more familiar with the feminine sex an' all." He suggested mischievously.

Pratt scowled at him. "What's that remark supposed to mean?"

Alex eyes flickered between Pratt and Pryce. "Nuthin'. You do remember I have lodgings at a brothel?"

Pratt raised an eyebrow but his smile returned. "Perhaps, but these are respectable women. All the same, yes, I shall expect you to help charm them over dinner that they might more easily respond to our questions." 

Pryce made a dismissive sound and strode a bit ahead. 

"I think perhaps the good Sergeant disapproves of you," Pratt quipped. 

Alexander took in the stiff back of the man walking ahead. "You think?" He replied in hushed tones. "I thought it was that stick he has up his ass."

Pratt had to stamp down hard to resist the urge to laugh and instead quirked an eyebrow at Xander, and decided to tweak him back instead. "I had no idea you'd examined his backside so closely, Dr. Harris." 

Alex grinned, Pratt had a sense of humor, who would have guessed it? He decided to tweak him back. "I am a doctor, Inspector all areas of the human anatomy are of interest to me."

"Hmmm." William's impish mood shifted like quicksilver, and he felt an unaccustomed warmth shoot through him. He was sure the doctor hadn't meant it this way, but the remark had stuck an odd chord with him. A little corner of his psyche he tried not to visit too often because it was unseemly for a police Inspector. He recovered himself in an instant, taking a deep breath. He touched the brim of his hat on mock salute to Alexander. "Touche." 

Alex kept on smiling, had he imagined the small shadow flit cross Pratt's face or the twinkle in the corner of his eye? Everyone had naughty thoughts now and again and as long as they remained thoughts. Where was the harm? Pratt firmly believed his thoughts remained with the fairer sex. He nodded and fell into step with the inspector.

They soon arrived at the Mears'. Pratt had Pryce stay back, so that no one at the house would know he lurked about outside. The Inspector and his American went down the small side path to the boarding house that also served as the good doctor's home. Pratt rapped with the knocker and a slender, fairly attractive blonde woman answered the door. She was smartly dressed, but she also wore an apron over her dress. "You must be the Inspector," she said. "I'm Mrs. Mears. But your companion doesn't fit his description of your sergeant." She looked askance at Harris, obviously disapproving of his customary and distinctive apparel. 

Inspector Pratt tipped his hat with a slight bow. "Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mears. No, indeed, I thought it more appropriate to bring along a surgeon who occasionally does work for our division. Mrs. Mears, please meet Dr. Harris." 

Alex snatched the hat from his head and gave his most winning smile. "Pleased to meet you Mrs Mears, ma'am." he did nothing to disguise his accent, in fact emphasized it. "The Inspector is bein' too kind ma'am, I'm just a hick doctor learned his craft on the battlefield an' does what he can to help the local constabulary. Forgive my lack of more formal dress." It wasn't that it wasn't true he had been a field surgeon, he had also been one of foremost surgeons at a big hospital in Chicago.That was before he got itchy feet and became a Pinkerton's man.

Mrs.Mears raised an eyebrow but gave him a polite smile in return. "Welcome then, Dr.Harris. Well, you should both perhaps come in, dinner is almost ready." She stepped aside to let them into the house and then closed the door. 

The house inside was tidy, and was a picture of middle-class respectability and pride of place. Most of the furniture was evidently fairly new, no real signs of wear on anything except the obviously heavier and older pieces, like the carved dining table and chairs and the matching buffet and china cabinet. Dr. Mears was already in the dining room, though standing, and the bustle in the kitchen as Mrs. Mears went back in made it clear all the women of the house were in there. Also standing with Dr. Mears was the slender young man from his office.

"So good to see you, Inspector." Dr.Mears flashed an insincere and greasy smile. "Let me introduce my assistant, Jonathan Levinson." He looked at Harris. "I overheard your introduction to my wife, Dr. Harris. So you've had no formal training?" 

Alex pursed his lips."A little sir, but none worth speaking of and certainly none I'm sure as matches up to your good self sir. But give me a saw and I can have a leg off in the shake of a lamb's tail while the bullets whiz around my ears." He gave a wide grin at their somber faces and tried not to laugh at Pratt's askance expression.

Dr. Mears nodded sagely. "I have read some of the journals written by some of the field surgeons, and also various news accounts of the period. I am impressed by the steady nerves needed to do amputations in such conditions. It is a marvel that so many of them survived. But I understand much of that is also due to the radically improved conditions of hospitals, due to the innovations made by the nurses. Indeed, I know that the conditions of hospitals the world around are better for it. I would be glad of the chance to consult with you over your experiences. Many of my people flee the horrors of ill-treatment in Russia and the Slavic countries, and many arrive in ill-health or with grave injuries." 

Before Harris could answer, Pratt interjected, the little cues he'd not been processing suddenly coming into focus. "Ah, Dr.Mears, I apologize for not recognizing that you are Jewish. We have many of your people in Whitechapel. I am truly sorry for the terrible injustices they flee." He was sincere about his concern for the Jews. They faced a terrible plight and yet were the most orderly and law-abiding of the many groups in Whitechapel. It made him wonder, though, if his religion had anything to do with the crimes he suspected him of. There was the matter of the inscription in chalk where Catherine Eddowes body had been found, "The JUWES are not the men That Will be Blamed for nothing". 

Alex cleared his throat. "I came into the war within the last few months of capitulation." His eyes became bleak, his voice somber. "What you say is true doctor but it was a hell of a way to make advances in medicine and one I would have seen made in a different way. Boys no more than fourteen lost limbs, were blinded some lost their lives. It was a bloody mess dodging bullets and trying to save lives. But if as you say, " he shrugged,"some good came out of that hell, I'm glad of it."

Dr.Mears nodded in agreement, his expression sober and serious. He drew Alex into a discussion of certain particulars of battlefield surgery. His young assistant Jonathan listened raptly, occasionally interjecting a question or point of his own. Pratt settled back, taking the opportunity to study Dr.Mears' manner and expressions. This continued until the doors to the kitchen opened and the lovely smells of dinner emerged. 

Well, given the knowledge that Mears was Jewish, it was little wonder to see Mrs.Mears set a proper kosher table. Nor was it much wonder that the three female employees were likewise Jewish. All the young ladies came in along with Mrs. Mears and two women who by their dress could only have been a cook and scullery maid. The dishes were set down, and the profusion of plates and such made sense now, as nothing made from dairy could touch meat. The cook and maid dished up the as the young ladies were all introduced.

All of the employees were of a type, a type familiar to Pratt from the refugees in Whitechapel . They all were dark of eye and hair, and their features all of the sort typically thought of as Jewish. All were pretty but not overly so, not designed to provoke too much jealousy in one's wife. Their names were given as Gertrude Schuller, Beatrice Kantor, and Hannah Reznik. They were all tidily and decently attired, as most shop clerks were. They were all shy to begin with, but quickly responded to the charms of Harris, who in their eyes was a 'real American cowboy'. 

Pratt took advantage of the distraction to begin quiet conversations with the Mears. He wanted to put them at ease, and confrontation could wait til after dessert. 

Alex was soon at home talking to the young ladies. He had an easy, polite manner with them and his living arrangements meant that he knew what topics interested the fairer sex and drew them in so that they were soon chatting to him. He observed that these were proper young Jewish ladies, they were neither so bold or forward as Darla's girls and inclined to show deference to any man with whom they came in contact. They were happy to talk about their employment, their living arrangements, less so about personal matters. From talking to them, and especially Hannah he began to pick up that they somewhat disapproved of Lucy, though they did not mention anything in particular and he engaged them with stories about the Wild West  
.

The dinner itself was pleasant enough, if somewhat oddly composed to an Englishman's palate. After dessert had been served, and fresh coffee brought out to supposedly aid the digestion, Pratt decided it was time to engage Mears on the true subject of their visit. "Dr.Mears, I did have a question that has been bothering me since this morning. How did you know without being told that Miss Lucy Taylor had been murdered? No one had said the word murder or mentioned she was killed, merely that she was dead." 

Mrs. Mears shot Dr.Mears a sharp glance, and Dr.Mears twitched slightly before he put on on of his solicitous smiles. "I'm certain you're mistaken, Inspector. You must have indicated, or the photograph must have suggested murder in some fashion."

Inspector Pratt let a smile spread on his face. It was not a pleasant expression. "We were most careful with the photograph, Doctor. I'm rather more surprised you did not put forward, instead, the idea she had perished in some terrible accident, much as another five of your employees did." 

Dr. Mears expression was guarded and unreadable. "That's an unkindness to so mention the dead thus. Is there some reason you bring up those poor girls?" Mrs.Mears uttered a yiddish expression, and her sour face looked at the Inspector now. 

Pratt nodded and continued, his voice still relatively in polite tones. "Why, you ask? Dr. Mears, we have gone over the autopsy reports of those women, and it's obvious to any qualified doctor that at the very least three of them were killed prior to their 'accidents'. " He leaned in a bit, placing his weight on one hand. "And on all of them you collected a tidy sum for each through life insurance policies. So you can see, Doctor, why we are making this entire line of inquiry." 

Mears expression remained somber. "Really Inspector how those poor unfortunates met their deaths is as much a mystery to me as to you." He made an expansive gesture. "I did not examine the bodies so I had no reason to argue with the findings of the police surgeon that they perished accidentally. I was not present when they died and I do not possess God's insight. Now you tell me that their deaths were not accidents? What am I to think? As for the life Insurance policies there is no great mystery to it. My wife and I are in every particular family to the young women who lodge with us, they have no other living relative and is it not prudent to take out Life Insurance on one's family? The young women themselves insisted so that should the unthinkable happen we would have the means to see them safely and decently buried. Your implied accusations of wrong doing are extremely hurtful to my wife and myself, not to mention the young ladies present at our table. And may I remind you I am a doctor and as such pledged to saving lives."

Alex tried to control his reaction, but his eyebrow rose. The amount they had the girls insured for far exceeded the amount needed to bury them, even if they used a gold coffin. He knew a scam when he smelt one and this one was rancid. What happened if the girls got married? Did they still keep up with the policies? Why hadn't any of the girls gotten married or even seemed to have admirers? He knew it was the Jewish way to arrange marriages and if they cared for the girls as much a they claimed, why hadn't they attempted that? As for saving lives, he knew from experience that sometimes that wasn't always possible and events and circumstances might make a man act out of character. Doctors were men, not gods.

Pratt's temper was slipping out of his control. Really, the man was contemptible and ridiculous in his denials. "Not all doctors keep to their pledges, Sir. And I will be re-opening inquiries into the suspicious deaths as well as that of Miss Taylor. I must inform you, Doctor, that you are under suspicion. I shall have to request that you and your wife remain in London." His tone was angry and snappish. 

Dr. Mears' face turned a spectacular shade of red and a vein throbbing in his cheek. "You insult me, you insult my wife, you insult my house and hospitality. I insist that you leave now!" 

"Gladly!" Pratt said. "The odor of mendacity is almost worse than that of a dead room." He got up and gestured to Harris. They grabbed their jackets and hats and headed out the door, Dr. Mears and Mrs. Mears following behind, the Doctor continuing to be the outraged party and Mrs. Mears continuing to mutter in Yiddish. 

As they stepped outside and briskly went down the walkway, there was no sign of Pryce. They made a quick look round but they could not find him. A look of concern passed between the two men. Where could he be? And why would dependable Sergeant Pryce ever leave his post?


	4. Chapter 4

Outwardly Pryce was his usually stoic self as he settled down to keep watch on the house. It was not so much waiting outside that annoyed him. He'd done many a vigil waiting and watching, watching some suspect or another, and it was part of the job that his time as a soldier had well-prepared him for. He could compose himself and wait quietly for hours in whatever position he chose without much difficulty.

Nor was it the lack of dinner now whilst the Inspector and Harris had presumably a nice home-cooked meal inside. No, he'd been promised a supper at a decent pub, and the Inspector was always generous with such things. It was the fact that the American was the one inside with Inspector Pratt. Harris grated at Pryce's nerves. Pryce respected the Inspector. Pratt hadn't served but it wasn't from lack of courage or ability. Pryce had quickly given the Inspector his loyalty, and he felt unaccountably possessive of the Inspector in certain matters. Harris was not worthy of the trust the Inspector gave him. He was able, yes, and capable of physical bravery, but he was undisciplined, flippant, and decidedly shady. Pryce would wager a month's salary that Harris was hiding some dark secrets and if so his very friendship with Pratt could damage Pratt's reputation, even ruin him. 

So it was that Wesley leaned in place, well-hidden behind some of the lush landscaping as he watched the house, and pondered the problem that was Dr. Alexander Harris. He was deep enough in thought that it took a moment for the movement to register. There was a basement window opening, and a part of the wall sliding smoothly and almost noiselessly away. A mountain of a man emerged from the opening, carrying what looked like a slender smallish coffin. He was large enough that the box gave him no difficulty. The large man hefted it easily onto his shoulder and began to walk down the pathway towards the street. 

Well now, Sergeant Pryce was in a pickle. This wasn't something to pull the Inspector from his inquiries, but neither could he let the matter alone. He made a decision and followed the man-mountain, hoping to make it back before the two men finished with Mears and the ladies. 

Alex cast a look around, there was no sign of the dour sergeant and as much as he thought him way too serious for his own digestion it was definitely not like Pryce to desert his post. "We appear to have mislaid our sergeant," he remarked to Pratt. It was stating the obvious but did no harm.

William raised an eyebrow and tilted his head as he looked over at his American. "Let us hope mislaid is accurate, doctor. I'd prefer to get him back and intact, if possible." His hand instinctively slid inside his coat to the handle of the revolver he'd decided to bring along. "I don't see any obvious signs of violence but let's keep a watchful eye, yes?" 

Alex nodded. He didn't indicate the revolver strapped to his hip and concealed by his jacket. He knew that Pratt knew he most often wore it and as long as he was discreet and didn't go shooting up Whitechapel, turned a blind eye. He squinted into the gloom."No indication what might have befallen him or drawn him from his vigil. Any ideas Inspector, given that Mears and that lad of his were with us?"

"Nothing specific. Let's move toward the street and see if perhaps someone saw him leaving." William started walking up the path towards the street without looking to see if Harris followed him. It was the habit of being in charge, he just naturally assumed that he'd be obeyed. 

Alex remained where he was and stared at the Inspector's stiff, retreating back. He put his hands on his hips, just what the fuck? Who had died and made Pratt the boss of him? He'd go along when he was ready, he hadn't even had the good grace to say please. Of course there was the other way of looking at it... He was stood in the middle of the sidewalk outside Dr. Mears house and probably looked suspicious, especially in this nice neighborhood. And Pratt was the Inspector, not that he knew how that happened because in his professional opinion the man was anal, definitively anal. All that pent up....

"Harris!"

Alex jumped. "Be right with you Inspector." He hurried after him.

Just as the two of them were making inquiries of the few steady-looking inhabitants of the immediate area, like the sturdy-looking lads selling hot chestnuts from a pushcart, the two of them saw the man-mountain turn down the path towards the boarding house. They looked at each other and were about to go back to the house when a familiar voice spoke behind them. "Chestnuts? Didn't that doctor feed you well enough?" Pryce asked. 

Pratt turned around with a bark of a laugh. "You seem well enough. So report, Sergeant, as we walk. I definitely owe you a decent supper and I don't know about the two of you but I could use a drink to wash the taste of that house of my mouth. You up for a stop at a public house, Harris, or do you have an urgent card game?" 

Alex grinned tossing a hot chestnut from hand to hand as he walked. "Always up for a drink Inspector. Especially if I ain't buyin'." He tossed the chestnut into his mouth.

Pryce told them about the odd door coming up from the basement, and the odd case. "So I followed. And damned if he didn't stop at another doctor's surgery. I got to see what was in the case when he lowered it to get through the door. The case had a glass front, and it had a perfectly mounted skeleton inside. I couldn't get close enough to overhear, but I peeked round the front window and I saw the doctor give a fair-sized wad of bills. I shadowed him back, and here we all are."

The Inspector cocked and eyebrow. "Doctor, are there many legitimate sources of a good clean human skeleton?"

Alex sighed. "Sources are limited. Those that die by the hangman's craft and have no-one to claim the body. Those souls that sell their remains prior to death to hospitals and medical schools or whose families do so after death. " He looked from Pratt to Pryce and back and his face grew dark. "And one can't rule out The Resurrectionists." He exhaled a long breath. "The truth is demand far outstrips supply and there's always them that don't enquire too closely where skeletons and alike come from. If medicine is to advance we have much to learn about the human body and it has to be sourced from somewhere and what good some poor soul lying in a pauper's grave, unmarked, unmourned when their mortal remains could be doing some good?" It didn't sound right even to him but it was the truth of it.

William nodded. "Well we can check into Dr. Mears to see if he's used the legal channels. But if not, then we at least have him on the hook for illegal sale of human remains. We can get authority to enter his home and search it." He sighed. "Assuming, of course, that the chief inspector thinks it is worth our time." 

"If Abberline has ought to do with it, probably not." Alex sighed. "That man's bound and set on it being a Ripper murder to the exclusion of anything else."

"Well I shall have to be persuasive then. We shall bring the other doctor, the one who purchased the skeleton, down to our neck of the woods. We shall brace him then drag him before Abberline." William's jaw was set. "One way or another we must make him stop chasing phantoms." 

Wesley nodded in agreement. "I'm with you, Inspector."

Alex looked from one to the other and adjusted his hat upon his head. There was a stubbornness to Pratt's fine jaw that he was wont to admire, the Inspector was not one to be trifled with. The whole affair of the Whitechapel Murders had not reflected well on Pratt or Abbeline. Pratt had charge of the case until Abberline and other officers were drafted in from the city police. Namely Scotland Yard CID. Pratt was still officially in charge but Abberline was most associated with the case. His wild claims and accusations received notoriety in the rabid press coverage and he took it personally that the killer was never caught. Whereas Pratt had shaken it off, it still snapped at Abberline's heels like an angry dog. He pushed between them and walked ahead. "I'd just be obliged if he would just stop chasin' me."

This made both William and Wesley chuckle, and they joined him in walking to the nearby pub. It was warm and friendly and they settled down. William set about ordering drinks all round then a bit of everything it seemed for dinner. The drinks came first then the food, enough to make the table groan. A few pies including a fresh eel pie. A nice joint of beef, some stewed vegetables, and a few hearty rounds of bread. "Eat up, gentlemen," Pratt said. "If we eat all this I'll order more, anything left and I'll ask for a basket to take it home for myself. Anything else you fancy just ask." He had a small ghost of a smile. "I got the department to approve a per diem for this outing today so it's not even my own money." 

Alex took off his hat. Even though he'd eaten well at the Mears he wasn't about to turn his nose up at good food and drink. He cut himself a good sized hunk of beef, slice of pork pie and some cold boiled potatoes. "Always said you could charm the birds from the trees when you've a mind to Inspector." He shoveled beef into his mouth.

William's mouth quirked at Alex's compliment. It was the second time that day a fairly innocent comment from his American had aroused an unaccustomed warmth in him. "Thank you, Mr. Harris." He helped himself to a bit of the eel pie, a favorite of his. 

Wesley stopped between bites of beef to mumble a thank you, drawing a chuckle from William. "Eat up Sergeant, you've done yeoman's work today." William settled back with his drink. 

It had been an innocent enough remark, though sincerely meant. Alex was willing to admit a friendship for the serious Inspector that had a warmth to it. He felt on some visceral level that like him Pratt was living with some nameless guilt that sometimes gave him a melancholy air, which disturbed him. He chose to assuage his guilt in gambling and the ocassional bout of hard drinking, Pratt threw himself single mindedly into his work, which was a pity. When Pratt loosened up a bit he was entertaining company.

The three of them settled down for a companionable supper. They were all relaxed but not paralytic with drink by the time it was over. William had a hearty basket of food to take with him and ordered some bottles to take along with it. It was dark by the time they got into the underground to head back to Whitechapel, and they bid each other goodnight and went on their individual ways. 

Alex made his way back to the brothel, as he walked he thought long and hard about Pratt. He was a hard man in many ways. Like him, but like him he was betting he had a soft center, his weaknesses. His was one could get him hard labor and would likely disgust the good Inspector if it were known, which was a pity. He knew Pratt been married,what kind of woman did he go for? He halted on the brothel steps and pushed out a long breath, he didn't want to be alone,not tonight. Taking his hat off as he entered. Darla greeted him in the hallway, hands on hips. "Finished playin' copper?" She sneered.

Alex sighed. "Don't want to fight Darla, I was thinkin' maybe I'd like some company, is Fred available?"

Darla looked him up and down. He asked for Fred fairly regularly. "You pay for her company like everyone else, no freebies."

Alex nodded. "Always do."

"She'll be through in about twenty minutes. Shall I send her along?"

Alex nodded. "That'd be fine." He pushed by Darla and made his way to his room.

Darla's keen eyes tracked him.

A short while later, Fred knocked on Alex's door and came in. She was slender and pale, with long thick wavy brown hair and soft brown eyes that seemed to dominate her face. She was in a corset, garter, stockings, silk drawers and high heels, with a silk robe loosely covering her. Despite her time working here she still carried an air of innocence. She smiled at Harris, a beaming friendly smile, and wrapped her arms around him to hug him tightly. "Alexander, where have you been hiding yourself?"

Alex returned the hug, holding her slender body tight. It never ceased to amaze him doing what she did Fred managed to look so innocent and remain so trusting and sweet. "Been around darlin' helping Inspector Pratt with a case." He gave her an extra hard hug and then released her. A crease appeared between his eyes. "Darla treating you okay?"

Fred shrugged and sat on the end of the bed. "Can't complain."

He looked down at her. He'd removed his hat, coat and waistcoat, his revolver hung on his hip and his braces hooked over his shoulders on top of his blue collarless shirt, his red bandanna was still around his neck. "I've a mind to have you for the rest of the night Fred, that all right with you?"

"Cost you and Darla's not too fond of us spending too much time with one gent." Fred answered easily.

Alex nodded. "I have the guinea and I'll square it with Darla." He sat on the bed beside her. I don't want to be alone tonight, I figure we can play cards, you can read to me some or we can just talk and then we'll spoon." It wasn't the first time this arrangement had been made, Alex hugged her, held her while he slept, even kissed her but never anything more. It didn't take a genius to figure out why.

Fred smiled, and stroked a hand over his cheek. "Whichever you like. You know what I think?" Her eyes sparkled a bit as her smile got even brighter. "I think you're sweet on that handsome Inspector of yours." 

Alex didn't say anything but ducked his head a bit, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Been a long, long time since he'd allowed himself to get close to another man, certainly not in recent years. "Wouldn't do me any good even if I was, not that I am," he added quickly. He knew anything he said was safe with Fred. "He's been a married man, be horrified by any notion like that, like as not lock me up and toss away the key, he mumbled.

Fred leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You know as well as I do marriage vows don't always mean too much. If no married men came here we working girls would all starve. But you're right, I guess, to be worried. He seems very serious. Almost never smiles when he comes in here looking for you." The sound of music drifted up the stairs, someone had apparently wound up the huge music box in the parlor and was accompanying it on the piano. 

[**(Music Box)** ](http://www.vincentfreemanantiques.com/disk_pages/disk868.htm)

Fred stood and struck a pose and took Alex's hand. "Shall we dance?"

Alex smiled and stood, scooping her up into his arms and they were soon laughing and waltzing around the room as the strains of music squirreled between the floorboards from below. It was true, William Pratt did seem so serious, perhaps he ought to work harder at putting a smile on his face.

For his part, the Inspector did not head home. He hailed a hansom cab, and got inside. He gave an address for an inn on Albany Street, not far from the Guards' barracks. It was an occasional escape for him. A weakness. And he was too needy today. Damn that Harris anyway, with his thick dark hair he wanted to stroke, and those lovely soft cupid's bow lips he wanted to kiss. He engaged a room and then strolled down the street to a tobacconist's shop. He stepped inside. An older woman sat behind the counter. She gave him a courteous smile. He smiled back, pressing a ten-shilling note into her hand. "The usual, room 7 in you know where."

She nodded back. "Shortly, Inspector." He took a small box of matches and left. 

A short while later, there was a knock on his door. Pratt opened it to see a handsome strapping young guardsman standing there. William gestured him inside and shut the door. He pressed a coin into his hand, and then placed a finger across his lips in a shushing gesture. The young man nodded and he began to slowly strip off his uniform, and William started to strip as well. He'd had this young man before, a few times now. He was discreet and particularly skilled at gamahuching. Once down to their trousers, they approached each other, hands caressing over bare chests and hard flat stomachs. William pressed him back suddenly against a wall and begin kissing him. The kiss lasted and lingered as they pushed against each other. William ended up with his back against the wall eventually as the young man slid down on his knees...

A few hours later, William was sitting the the dark, in a lovely garden he'd sat in many a night before. It was thick with the scent of many night-blooming flowers now, and he sat in an arbor covered with night blooming jasmine and dark red roses. He took in deep breaths of it, letting it calm him. He was rumpled and only half-dressed, his jacket, waistcoat and outer clothes all heaped beside him. 

Eventually he heard the soft skiff of slippered feet on the stone path. He looked up to see her coming, her dark hair haloed just a bit in the moonlight, her pale skin glowing. She was almost scandalous, out in the night with only a robe and her cotton nightgown on underneath it. She didn't ask for permission, merely eased sideways onto his lap and wrapped her arms about him. 

He rocked slightly, just holding her and letting himself feel the sweetness of her spirit. Then he stroked her hair and was so overcome with the feeling to do something, anything. So he kissed her neck. She moaned softly then pulled his head back. 

"You need to steal something?" He asked the young woman. 

"Willie, someone else has gotten the only thing of yours worth stealing." Dru's voice was softly back. "Someone's touched your heart, haven't they brother?" 

"Yess.... " William breathed out slowly. "I need some peace. I can't let him go, he's in my thoughts far too often for comfort." 

"Shhh, shhh now sweet Will. I'll make it go away tonight." She began to stroke his hair, and hummed very softly, ' Bonnie Maid'. She managed to get him calmed down and then back into her house, up the stairs to her room. She scrambled onto her bed so he could follow, this time automatically sitting with his back to her chest. Her fingers quickly found the right spots on his neck and she continued, softly massaging and singing.

He began to calm. Then she slid him down on her bed and she settled up against him. The two of them lay spooned under the coverlet and slept, waiting for the dawn.


	5. Chapter 5

There was the sound of Darla's voice first, her piercing, "You can't just come barging in here anytime you like Sargeant!" Then Pryce's response, imagined more than heard as Pryce seldom yelled. "This place is open on the good will of the police, madam, kindly remember that." Finally the banging at the door, insistent, persistent. 

The walls were paper thin, all right he knew they weren't. He guessed they were standard thickness, but it seemed that way as voices pulled Alex from sleep and he raised his head from the pillow. He recognized both voices of course, Darla's shrill and angry and Pryce's patient but determined with the full authority of the law. His head fell back on the pillow with a groan as the thunderous banging came at the door.Why couldn't Pryce just knock like anyone normal?

"Harris! I know you're in there, open the bloody door the Inspector has need of you!" Pryce yelled.

Didn't the man speak normally either? Beside him Fred stirred. She still wore her corset and silk drawers and Alex had stripped his top half but still wore his drawers. "What is it?" She mumbled sleepily."A roust?"

Alex swung his legs out of bed and reached for his pants. "Nah summons from the Inspector, go back to sleep."

Pryce hammered again. "Open the door I'll break it down," he threatened.

"You do and you'll bloody pay for the repairs!" Darla's angry voice responded.

"Hold yer water Pryce, I'm coming!" Alex stumbled to the door fastening his pants. 

He reached the door and released the lock, Pryce fell into the room, pushing Alex back.

"Yer that eager to see me in my drawers Sergeant Pryce?" Alex made an amused quip and Fred giggled from the bed. 

Darla craned her neck to see into the room from the doorway, she had her suspicions.

Pryce flushed. "Inspector Pratt has need of you."

"That's the Inspector," Alex grinned, plucking his shirt from the chair back, "just can't live without me."

Pryce touched his hat and ducked his head as he looked over at Fred. "Begging your pardon, Miss Fred. I'd no idea this lout here was with a lady." 

Fred smiled over at Pryce, blushing prettily. "I don't mind, really." 

Wesley looked back at Alex, shaking his head. "What the Inspector wants with you I've no clue, Harris, but he does seem to think highly of you. Just as well he's having breakfast and not here to see you in this state." 

That stung, it shouldn't have but it did. Alex scowled. "Oh, I suppose your precious Inspector sleeps fully clothed?" He knew it wasn't what Pryce meant but he wasn't about to say anything about Fred. He glared at the Sergeant,what did he care what Pratt thought of him? Although no doubt Pryce would tell what he'd seen. In a huff and under Pryce's watchful gaze he shrugged into his shirt, pushed it into his trousers and put his braces over his shoulders. He sat and pushed his feet into his boots and then picked up his gun, waistcoat and jacket and set his hat onto his head. He brushed passed Pryce."Take it easy Fred," he commented over his shoulder and skirted around Darla's poisonous glare. "Let's go Pryce."

Pryce just sniffed disdainfully at Alex's remark, and let him get on with getting dressed. He was keenly aware of Fred, and he snuck glances at her. A time or two he thought maybe she was also looking at him. Once Alex was dressed, Wesley touched his hat again. "Good day to you, Miss Fred." He also dared Darla's evil eye to say, "And good day, Madam." He headed down the stairs briskly, Harris in tow. 

They wove their way through the streets to The Hungry Wolf. It was a pub which sign featured a wolf dressed in a suit holding knife and fork in his paws, a laden table before him. It also happened to be the pub that had been declared as safe for the police to eat and drink, as they were forbidden by regulation from patronizing the establishments they patrolled. The Hungry Wolf was directly across from the police station and therefore was scarcely in need of patrolling. It was a homey sort of place, the wood on the bars and tables shiny and dark from many many years of use. The staff were mostly reformed street urchins and prostitutes, both male and female.

Inspector Pratt sat at a table, a huge platter in front of him. By the looks of it the Inspector had been hungry indeed, as most of the food was gone and he was mopping up some of the grease and gravy with a thick piece of bread. This was out of character for him, normally breakfast was a cup of tea or coffee and a piece of toast. His clothing was out of place, too. He was dressed like a toff, and there was even in this pub thick with food smells a distinct whiff of feminine perfume. He looked up as they entered. "Ah, Harris, Sergeant. Pray, join me. I'm in the mood for a large breakfast this morning, I'm so full I probably won't manage much before dinner time." He took a pull on the mug of beer in front of him. 

Alex blinked at him. This was a new look for the Inspector and he more resembled his superiors in the city police. Alex was used to the checked suits and round collars of the gainfully employed rather than the solid colors and winged collars of the superior classes. He slid along the bench seat opposite Pratt and caught the whiff of feminine fragrance, it seems he wasn't the only one enjoyed a bit of female company last night. He couldn't resist a quick smirk at Pryce before he spoke. "You're looking very dapper Inspector," he helped himself to a slice of brawn and hunk of bread.

Pratt looked a little sheepish. "Well, yes." He cleared his throat. "We are facing Abberline and possibly some of the higher-ups to try to fight for the case. This is a relic from married life, I'm afraid. I ran in rather more posh circles at the time." He took a long pull from the mug of beer, his mercurial mood shifted again by his own mention of his past. Then he forced a smile. "I take it you slept well?"

Pryce ignored the by-play in favor of spearing one of the kippers the Inspector hadn't polished off and some toast and marmalade. He motioned over one of the barmaids and ordered a mug of coffee for himself. 

"I did Inspector, thank you until the good sergeant came hammerin' fit to waken the dead." He gestured to the barmaid. "Make that two coffee's darlin'," he turned back to Pratt. "So what do you want me for? I'm like a red rag to a bull as far as Abberline's concerned."

"We've got to bring in that doctor who bought the skeleton and get answers from him. And I need someone to help me sort the wheat from the chaff. I have many areas of expertise but the knowledge of skeleton procurement is not one of them, and if he tries to put me off with medical terms you can pull him up short." Pratt smiled. "You don't have to remain for Abberline, I completely understand if you wish to leave before he arrives." 

"Yeah, right." Alex chuckled. "I didn't say I don't enjoy yanking the good Inspector's chain a mite." The coffee arrived and he took a gulp, feeling the Inspector's eyes on him.

William smiled wryly at Alex. His American was incorrigible. He heated a little as he realized he always thought of Alex as 'his' American. "I have noticed you do, yes. Well then, let's finish eating and get about it." 

They finished the rest of breakfast largely in companionable silence. It was back onto the underground train to reach corporation territory to the north, and then through the streets, following Pryce's lead to where the doctor's surgery lay. 

They went up and the Inspector rapped on the door. It was answered shortly by a very crisply-dressed nurse. "May I help you?" She asked. 

The Inspector and Sergeant Pryce both touched the brims of their hats, and it was the Inspector who spoke. "We need to see the doctor." He glanced at the sign outside. "Dr. Mayfield. Tell him Inspector Pratt of the Metropolitan Police would like to speak to him." 

The nurse nodded. "Of course, come inside, please. I'll go let him know." 

The three of them stepped inside. It was a spartanly furnished and very clean room. A few minutes later a plump balding man stepped into the waiting area. "I'm Dr. Mayfield. How may I be of assistance?" 

Inspector Pratt fixed the man with his gaze, wanting to judge his response. "Did you recently purchase a skeleton from a Dr. Mears?" 

The doctor looked puzzled. "Well yes, but I don't understand why..." His voice trailed off. "Is there something wrong with the skeleton?" 

"Perhaps. Might my friend here who is also a doctor take a look at it?" The Inspector asked. 

"Of course, right this way." Dr. Mayfield led them into his surgery where the skeleton in its fine glass-front display case stood. 

Alex moved around Pratt and Pryce and nodded to Dr. Mayfield who wore an anxious frown and stood in front of the case.

"Do you mind if I open the case doc?" Alex smiled briefly.

"No, no not at all. I can't really see there's a prob... " The doctor stammered as Alex edged him aside and turned the small, ornate brass key in the front of the case and opened it carefully.

He felt three sets of eyes bore into him as he peered at the skeleton. He examined the bones and made small sounds as if making discoveries. Mayfield's anxious frown deepened. The sounds were mainly for show and to earn his keep, he knew all he needed to know about the skeleton in a few moments. But it wouldn't do for Pratt to know that.

"Ahha," he drew back and closed the case and locked it. He turned and his audience looked at him expectantly.For a moment he toyed with the idea of saying he had no conclusion, but he doubted Pratt would see the funny side.

"You have a fine skeleton there, Dr. Mayfield. A woman, from the wear on the joints and teeth not more than early to middle twenties. She was well nourished, the bones are strong and no sign of rickets or growth spurts. From the whiteness of the bones, lack of staining and damage I'd say the body was dumped in a bath of acid not long after death." He rested his hands on his hips. "A skeleton in as good condition as this is hard to come by."

Dr. Mayfield frowned and fidgeted nervously. "Yes, well...Dr. Mears came highly recommended from several of my colleagues. The price is a bit over the average for this sort of thing but I was shown other examples, all as fine as this one. Dr. Mears is a reputable and prosperous man, I had no reason to suspect there was anything awry." 

Alex removed his hat and held it in his hands and ran his fingers distractedly around the brim. "That may be so doctor but didn't you have to wonder at Dr. Mears having so many fine skeletons?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Bet they were all female too."

Dr. Mayfield blanched.

"I mean," Alex gestured with his hat, "it's not as if he has connections with a hospital or undertaker where relatives might sell the body for research or a medical school. So," he frowned thoughtfully, " you have to wonder where the dickens he's getting bodies from?" He shrugged.

"I...I hadn't considered that," Dr. Mayfield stammered out. "It does seem rather suspect now that you put it that way." 

Pratt smiled politely and inclined his head. "If you might give us a list of the colleagues you know who have acquired skeleton from Dr. Mears?" 

"Of course." Dr. Mayfield went to his desk, dipped his pen into the inkwell, and wrote a list of names.

"Excellent," the Inspector said, taking the list. He scrutinized it and set it down. "If you'll be so kind as to add your name to the list and sign the paper. I believe we should be able to avoid taking you along with us to Whitechapel." 

Dr. Mayfield hurried to add his own name and sign. "Thank you, Inspector. I have patients due to arrive and I should hate to disappoint."

Pratt took the finished list and carefully folded it, placing it in the inside pocket of his jacket. "Good day to you then, doctor."

Soon enough they were on the underground, heading back to Whitechapel. They walked into the police station to see Abberline already there. 

Abberline was talking urgently and noisily with the desk sergeant who looked worn and harassed and relieved to see Inspector Pratt. Abberline wheeled around, red faced and whiskers bristling. "Where in God's creation have you been Inspector?" He thundered.

Pratt blinked. The Chief Inspector knew quite well where he'd been. He opened his mouth to acquaint him of this fact but Abberline waved him off.

"It doesn't matter where you've been, point is you weren't here! Another tart's been cut in Angel Alley, right bloody mess. I've got Lusk and the vigilantes baying for blood, that reporter McDonald ready to vilify me in the press and where are you? Running around, "he gestured wildly,"on some goose chase with your sergeant and a bloody cowboy. This isn't the Wild West!" He gave Alex a hard look and gestured at him, his eyes narrowed. "Was he with you the whole time?"

"Hey," Alex protested, "I come from Chicago, it's quite civilized........... mostly. 'Sides sorry to disappoint you Inspector Abberline, but I've got two of your own men can give me an alibi," he stuck his chin out defiantly.

"Arhhhh! " Abberline growled.

"Y'know ," Alex said soothingly, "you really ought to calm down a mite Inspector, you're very red-faced. It's my professional opinion that your blood pressure's a bit high." He fought to keep a straight face.

"Get him out of here!" Abberline roared. "Before I kill 'im!"

Alex grinned at Pratt and dodged around behind him and peered over his shoulder.

It was all Pratt could do not to laugh out loud at Alex's cheeky behavior. He made a mental note that Alex needed some sort of discipline later. But he managed to keep his countenance. "Not a wild good chase, Chief Inspector. Dr. Mears is definitely up to something. I've got a list here of ten doctors to whom he has provided skeletons of healthy young women. I know of no legitimate way he could have obtained that many. Also at least four of his employees have died in ways that most definitely suggest foul play and a staged accident. I think he is the one responsible for at least the one lady we have here and perhaps for this new body, which my man here needs to look at." 

The term my man wasn't lost on Alex. He knew it was just Pratt's way of speaking but it sent a nice little tingle spiraling through his body. Been a long, long while since anyone really cared to lay association on him, Darla was family and didn't count. He nodded. "I'll take a look at her."

"You forget yourself Inspector, " Abberline smirked. "Anything to do with Jack falls to me. My own doctor has already looked at her and I await his findings."

Pratt stiffened and his voice was cold and very clipped. "Chief Inspector, with the greatest of respect, you forget yourself. This is still my district and without written authority from above you cannot simply override my authority in my own district." 

Abberline's face darkened but he shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. It was true. It was more than two years since he had charge of H division and over a year since he was drafted back from Scotland Yard with others to help tackle the Whitechapel serial killer the newspapers gave the lurid name Jack The Ripper. He had been so close but had failed to catch him and it haunted his dreams and obsessed his waking hours. He'd worked with Pratt then and the younger man had naturally shown deference, but he was his own man and not someone to push. Police Commissioner Anderson was on his way to a knighthood and wanted to put it all behind him and it was unlikely he'd give him permission to override Pratt. He coughed. "Damn it Pratt, I just thought one colleague to another..." His voice died away. "The body's on the way."

"Thank you, Chief Inspector." Pratt's tone was still very crisp, but he was making sure to use courtesy while he asserted his authority. He was boiling underneath his cool facade, but he'd gotten his way and that was the important thing. "Dr. Harris, if you please, I need your services." He looked at Pryce. "Sergeant, if you could get some men together to deal with the Vigilance Committee. They need a bit of supervising. It's no good trying to stop them at the moment but make sure no innocents get hurt. Bust heads only if needed." 

"I'll take care of them, Inspector," Pryce said with a wicked grin. Pratt suppressed a smile. The sargeant relished assignments where a spot of violence might be had. But he had sense and he'd not let things go too far. Pratt could trust him. He looked over at Alex and smiled slightly as they followed Chief Inspector Abberline to the body.


	6. Chapter 6

The woman had been brought in and laid on the floor of the call they'd used for Lucy, as soon as he entered Alex was transported back to the dark days of the serial killer. He hadn't worked with Pratt then, but he'd seen the bodies. The small space was permeated with the stench of blood from her clothes, fairly steeped in it. She was a young blonde, pretty at one time, fairly well dressed and nourished. Alex slipped off his jacket and absently handed it to Pratt.The Inspector took it without a word,his face grim and the atmosphere in the cell somber.

Pratt handed him his bag and he knelt by the body. She lay on her back, her throat cut across with much blood soaked into the bodice of her dress. A quick inspection showed it was done with one clean stroke, down to the backbone almost severing the head. The abdomen was exposed and cut open the intestines having been drawn out and presumably pushed back to facilitate carrying her to the police station. Alex examined the wound closely. It was clean, precise, made by someone who knew what they were doing and skilled in handling sharp knives. A knife that sharp would only belong to a doctor, veterinarian or slaughter man. He doubted the latter two would have the skills needed to dissect a human body so methodically. The lobe and auricle of the right ear were cut obliquely through. No stiffening had yet taken place, but the body was cold so she was killed within the last three to four hours.

With a sigh he stood and rubbed his hands on a convenient rag. 

"Well?" Pratt urged expectantly.

Alex glanced up."She looks like Jack, all the signs......."

"Hallelujah," Abberline grinned.

Alex planted his hands on his hips."But she's not," he added firmly. 

Abberline scowled. "How so?"

"She's not a prostitute and she's at least two decades younger than his youngest victim,he chooses older ladies."

Abberline snorted. "He's branching out."

"This," Alex gestured at the body, "Is a deliberate attempt to mimic Jack but look at the wounds. Jack hacked, these are precise, methodical. There's no tearing to the skin or ragged edges. They were made by someone with the right tools and who knew what he was doing. My guess is a doctor or medical student with access to a surgeon's tools."

Abberline hmphed. "Twaddle." 

Pratt raised an eyebrow. "I'm certain that our superiors would agree with the doctor's conclusions, even if he is my American and not one of the usual surgeons. All of Jack's were older and most of them with drab brown hair. It's not Jack. It's Dr. Mears and I intend to go to his house to bring him in for questioning." Pratt's firm voice and stiff bearing made it clear he didn't intend to back down. 

The older Abberline relented, with very little grace. "Well she's yours then, along with the other one. You'd best land your fish, Pratt, or I'll make sure everyone upstairs knows of your high-handed ways." 

Pratt smiled a thin smile. "I'll land him." 

Abberline turned and left. Pratt looked at Alex. "Would you like to come with us to pick up our murderous doctor? I'd understand if you'd prefer to beg off." 

Alex grinned as he shrugged into his jacket Pratt held for him, the brush of his fingers sent a spark of awareness through him. "I wouldn't miss it for the world, William." It was the first time he'd ever used Pratt's given name in a public setting and he really hadn't thought about it, or meant to do it. It was too late to take it back and correcting himself would only draw attention to his slip. He decided to let it lie, it felt right on such an occasion where they were untied as comrades and alone in the cell,well except for the corpse. But there was no way in hell he was ever calling Pryce Wesley.

It was a good thing Alex was facing the other way, getting into his jacket. William was normally very good at schooling his features but he bit his lip as Alex used his first name. It was foolish, they'd been friends a long while, of course Alex could use his given name when it was only the two of them in the room. But the fact that they were alone made it seem like a bit more of an intimacy. Only Dru used his given name these days. He decided to be a bit daring himself. "Alex, you have a positive appetite for adventure." 

Alex raised an eyebrow and smiled as he straightened his jacket. Sometimes when they were alone, usually drinking they used their given names. A shiver of pleasure moved through him, others used his name of course, Darla, Fred a few poker acquaintances but they didn't say it like Pratt. "It's always been my downfall. How I ended up a field surgeon in the war and a Pinkerton man after." He hadn't talked much about his past, there were too many things he wasn't proud of. All of them necessary at the time but he didn't like to dwell on them.

"Well I'm glad for it. You're a good man to have about," William said. He paused, wondering perhaps if Alex were as affected as he was by this small moment. Foolish thought. "Shall we go?" He stopped as he was moving to the door and picked up Alex's doctor bag. "Ah, can't forget this." He handed it to Alex. There was more than a brief contact as they fumbled a bit handing it off. William felt a little color to his cheeks and chided himself. He wasn't some schoolgirl, why was he reacting like this? 

Fingers brushed, skin on skin contact. Goose bumps swept over Alex skin and his nerves jumped and pulse accelerated.He felt a flush of warmth and for the first time since he was a boy, inexplicably shy.

Alex voice was husky when he next spoke. "After you Inspector." He followed close behind wondering at himself why his banter with Pratt gave him such pleasure. Of course he knew but it was one of the things he didn't dwell on or investigate too closely. 

Pryce met them in the main room of the station. "We heard Abberline muttering as he went out. I took the liberty, Inspector, of assembling a few men to help. Just in case Mears or his large man cause any trouble. There's a paddy wagon as well, I was assuming you'd want to bring them all back." 

Pratt clapped Pryce on the shoulder and smiled. "Just so, Sergeant. Good thinking. Well, let's be off then."

There was an open wagon for the men, the Inspector climbed in and gestured to Alex to do the same. 

Alex eyed the wagon, oh for the days of his horse. Who was he kidding? He'd hated the wretched animal almost as much as it hated him and it wasn't as if he was that good at riding. He grasped the sides of the wagon and hauled himself up, surprised when Pratt extended a hand to his elbow and drew him to sit beside him. "Thanks," he murmured self-consciously and sat beside him. Their sides touched and their knees bumped together as the wagon moved off and rolled. Alex was acutely aware of Pratt's closeness, his scent intoxicating his senses and warmth soaking into him. He wondered if it was the same for the Inspector.

William, for his part, cursed the impulse that had him seat Alex next to him. His paid encounter with the Guardsman hadn't purged his wicked urges, they'd just reinforced them. So here he was, pressed close against Alex in the confines of this wagon. He took several slow deep breaths and tried to remind himself that they were just friends, and that he was wrong to be sitting here excited just because they were casually pressed together in a completely innocent fashion.

They got to Mears' house and surgery eventually, and everyone came down off the wagon. William moved up to the door of the surgery and rapped loudly. It was Jonathan who answered, looking distraught. "Inspector, something dreadful is going on, I fear. This morning Mrs. Mears and the ladies in her employ all headed to the train station. And Dr. Mears and Zachariah loaded the wagon with all sorts of things and left. He told me to stay here but I don't know what for." 

Pratt was a little suspicious, but Jonathan looked genuinely upset and frightened. "Do you have a key to the boarding house?"

Jonathan looked down and nodded. "I do, Sir. The doctor trusted me for small errands." He withdrew a key from his pocket and handed it to the Inspector. 

"Good man. I'll need you to come with us, Mr.Levinson." 

Jonathan nodded again. "Of course, Inspector. I should have known no doctor pays as assistant so well from mere generosity." 

Jonathan was bundled off to the paddy wagon as the Inspector strode off towards the house. Pryce gestured to a few of the men along and made to follow. Pratt stopped, turned around, and looked at Alex with a slight smile. "Are you coming, Doctor?" 

Alex had begun to feel like a spare wheel on this shindig but the invitation from Pratt and especially the smile gave him a warm glow. He'd been a Pinkerton man, they styled themselves Private Detectives and were very successful doing everything from running down outlaws, bounty hunting to private and personal security. They worked just within the bounds of the law and sometimes outside it, some more than others. He could handle police work, though he doubted Pratt would fully approve his gung ho, guns blazing approach. Not that this time he was armed, something he might regret. He nodded and adjusted his hat. "Right with you, Inspector."

The Inspector opened the door and gestured to Pryce and the other constables to enter. They did, and soon Pryce shouted out, "No one here, Inspector, all clear." 

William looked at Alex. "Time to find out what Dr.Mears was really up to." They entered.

Pryce nodded to the Inspector as they came in. "All the valuables and the ladies' things seem to be gone. Nothing else immediately suspicious." 

The Inspector nodded. "All right, everyone, spread out. We're looking for anything out of the ordinary, or any entrance to a cellar." Everyone fanned out. 

Alex left the Inspector in one room and went into the kitchen. It was a square room. Heavy stoneware sink, gas range, small kitchen table, scrubbed white with use. A small pantry with stone shelves and floor. A heavy, dark wood welsh dresser. Glass fronted top to display the best china, glass and cutlery, all gone. A long drawer with the everyday cutlery and two cupboards below with the everyday china and glassware. He closed the cupboards and noticed worn grooves on the floor as if something was often dragged across it. He straightened frowning, there was something odd about the room. He stood in the center and did a slow, 360 degree turn, he still didn't get it. He walked to the doorway and studied the room from outside and then walked back in. 

He had it!

"Inspector you'd better come and look at this," he called.

Pratt appeared at the doorway with a frown."What is it doctor?"

Alex stood hands on hips."This room, from outside it should be a rectangle, step inside and it's a perfect square. That there's a false wall." He nodded to the wall the dresser stood against.

"Good eye, doctor." The Inspector moved over, saw the same grooves. He yanked at the dresser and it pivoted, as if on a hinge, though the dresser wasn't lifted enough and it scraped across the floor. There was a small room inside, lit by gaslight like the rest of the house, and a number of small corridors leading off and a stairway down. "This would seem to be what we're looking for. Shall we investigate?" 

Was it wrong that it felt to Alex like they were two schoolboy friends united on an exciting adventure? This was what he missed and someone he was close to, to share it with. Fred was right he did feel something for William, something that given the chance might blossom and grow. But, he was a practical man and you had to play the hand life dealt you and he didn't see it including William. He'd take whatever friendship from the blond he could get. "Lead the way Inspector."

William couldn't suppress a somewhat savage satisfied smile. He and Alex had just proved Abberline wrong and it felt really quite good. He flushed with pride. He and Alex made an excellent team. Perhaps he could convince himself that this was enough, at any rate it was something special. They moved in, and the first most obvious thing was an elaborate set of gauges and valves, and a number of tubes and chemicals and other chemical equipment. The sets of valves were marked things like 'employee bedroom 1' and so forth. William turned to Alex. "What do you make of this?" 

Alex moved up beside Pratt, pushed together in the confined space. He examined the tubing, looked and the array chemicals and his brow creased."He's got himself quite a chemistry set," he followed the lie of the tubing. "My guess is that the tubing leads into the bedrooms as they're labeled and he could make a wide range of noxious gasses with these chemicals. There's chloroform here and careful there," he drew Pratt back by the arm. "That's prussic acid, heated it forms a lethal gas. Pumped into the room............."His voice faded. "More deadly than house gas and quicker but the room would have to be sealed or they'd poison the whole house."

William blessed all the earlier contact in the wagon, it let him not react to Alex pushing up so close and let him concentrate on the matter at hand. "Which explains how he killed his employees so quietly before staging the accidents. But we still need to tie him to these most recent killings in Whitechapel, the ones that he tried to make look like Jack." He looked at Alex. "Downstairs? If there's medical or chemical equipment there I shall need your expertise."

Alex carefully moved the colorless liquid out of harm's way. "Sure thing, lead the way."

The two of them moved carefully downstairs. Pryce and the others followed at a distance, there in case they were needed. The scene they moved into was like something from the Inquisition, mixed with a nightmarish operating theatre. There were manacles hanging from chains from the ceiling and bolted to the walls. There was an operating table of sorts, with restraints on it and manacles hanging down over it, as well as a drain for blood and other fluids. There were some odd bits of wooden structures that looked like torture devices copied from the dungeons of the inquisition. There was also a large bubbling acid bath with a metal cover, and a cabinet with all sorts of surgical implements as well as other items that could only be meant for torture. Pratt had seen many things in his life, many wretched and evil things, especially working on the Ripper murders, but this much purpose-built equipment for torture and murder frankly floored him. He stood still, taking it in, face impassive but his eyes eloquent with the revulsion and horror he felt. 

Alex reaction much more like the man himself, was loud and a testament to Anglo Saxon English having reached the Americas. His eyes widened. "Holy fuck and we thought Jack was a sick son of a bastard." Pratt and Pryce looked at him, his eloquence profound.

Pratt cleared his throat. "Just so. Doctor, could you look at those instruments in the cabinet and tell me if they could have made the injuries we've seen on both bodies. Pryce, fetch in Levinson." 

"Right away, Inspector." Pryce left, turning crisply on his heel and back up the stairs. 

Alex wasn't a squeamish man, hell with what he'd seen it was a wonder he slept at night and didn't wake screaming, not often anyway. He paled steadily as he looked at the instruments and devices, took in the chains and manacles. It was the thought of methodically using them on someone made his stomach roil. He turned to Pratt with a grim countenance and deep sorrow in his dark eyes. "These would do it," he murmured.

"I rather thought so. I imagine even Abberline's pet surgeon would have to agree." William met Alex's eyes steadily, sympathetic for the look he saw there. He reached out and gave a quick squeeze on Alex's upper arm, a gesture of camaraderie and support. A moment later Pryce arrived, dragging Jonathan by the collar of his coat, no doubt because the small man didn't move quickly enough to suit the sergeant. Pratt looked at him, moved over and grabbed his chin. "Look at all this! Can you tell me you honestly knew nothing about all this?"

Jonathan's eyes widened and he was shaking, the expression on his face a picture of sheer horror and fright. "N-n-no sir, Inspector, not a thing! I didn't know, I had no idea..." He looked around and gulped. 

"Well, if you are truly innocent, Mr. Levinson, perhaps you can wrack your brain and tell us where Dr. Mears might be found?" Pratt's voice was icy and his expression cold fury. 

Jonathan stammered and babbled a bit before a notion visibly occurred to him, his face a perfect mirror of his thoughts. "The doctor has a warehouse in Whitechapel at Datsfield Yard. He sent me there once to drop off some chemicals he had shipped in bulk. I can give you the address." 

"Do so." As soon as he'd gotten the specifics, Inspector Pratt turned back to the others. "We're off to Whitechapel, it seems. We need to apprehend Dr. Mears and his accomplice before they go anywhere else." They all moved back up the stairs, Pryce still dragging the stunned Jonathan, their mission set.


	7. Chapter 7

The trip back to Whitechapel seemed interminable to Pratt. He was admittedly a man of mercurial moods, but by far the most dangerous was his righteous anger, saved for foul criminals like Dr. Mears. So here he was, filled with wrath and the need to point all that energy in some productive direction and yet it was a long ride indeed from corporation land back to Whitechapel. And he was in front of Pryce and his men and his American, so he couldn't betray this, couldn't give vent to his frustration and anger. So he merely gripped his hands tightly on his knees as they bounced along, tight enough they'd likely bruise a bit around the edges later.

Alex sat beside Pratt with his head lowered, what he'd witnessed had touched him more than he liked to admit. He'd seen his share of foul things, horrific injuries that men inflicted on men, the ravage of disease he couldn't cure, bodies he couldn't mend but nothing like he'd seen at Mears' house. What kind of a sick and twisted mind came up with that sort of thing? Worse by far than anything he'd seen perpetrated at the Ripper's hands. Jack killed and mutilated but the mutilations had all been done post-death. Those instruments, that room...It was a torture chamber, intended to inflict the maximum of agony before death came as a merciful release. That, that's what he couldn't square away, the sick sadistic mind that was behind that. He knew he wasn't squeaky clean, he'd inflicted injury during the war, hell he probably killed but that was in the heat of battle and what happened in Chicago........... That was kill or be killed and it still haunted him. The thought of deliberately torturing someone, well it turned his stomach. And being women just made it that much worse. In the corner of the world he inhabited you didn't set out to deliberately hurt women, children or animals, it was a rough code but one he believed in. His anger simmered like Pratt's, but he lacked Pratt's dogged determination for justice. His was an explosive in-the-moment eye-for-an-eye kind of justice and if Pratt didn't get in the way, he'd like as not put a bullet between Mears' eyes on sight and save the hangman a rope. 

They were finally in Whitechapel and had stopped at the division station long enough to get more men and a few minutes later they were at the warehouses. It didn't take them long to find the place. Pratt ordered men deployed around at every possible exit and that took a bit longer. But then Andrew came running up, nearly out of breath. "Begging your pardon, Inspector, but there's urgent news. Miss Darla, she's taken by a pair of men matching the description of Dr.Mears and his servant."

Pratt's hands twisted into tight fists. His anger was incandescent. He looked over at Pryce. "Send word around. She is likely inside. Proceed cautiously and only on my signal." 

Pryce nodded, his face grim, and moved off to do the Inspector's bidding.

Darla! Alex cursed under his breath, why hadn't he thought to bring his revolver? It couldn't be a random kidnapping, Darla was older than the women Mears usually went for, this had the stench of something personal about it. No doubt along with the warehouses, he had eyes and ears in Whitechapel and knew that he at least lodged at the brothel and hoped to what? Use it to his advantage? He leant toward Pratt."You realize he's probably going to use her has a hostage to gain his freedom?" There was a deep crease of worry between his eyes. "Darla's a tough woman she's not easily intimidated and can hold her own with most men. But that colossus and Mears.........." His voice faded.

William lifted a hand, squeezing Alex's shoulder. "We won't let him escape and we'll get her out. Did you bring your weapon, the one I pretend to ignore?" 

William's touch seared him to the bone, even through his clothes and his gentle words gave him comfort. He looked sheepish. "Not this time Inspector, I left it behind." He felt such an idiot, leaving it when he had need of it most.

William nodded. "I do have a spare, but you must promise not to twit me about it." He reached into his coat, and pulled out a small pearl-handled pistol, the rest gilded with lovely decorative work on it. "A present from a female relative. It only fires two shots, one for each little barrel. But it's better than nothing." He handed it to Alex. "Make them count." His expression was serious, his eyes intent on Alex's. Both of them knew probably the only way to stop Mears was to kill him. 

Pratt held his gaze as Alex reached for the little pistol and their fingers brushed. His hand and arm seemed to come alive with an electric awareness of the other man. It arced through him and his nerves sizzled, the small hairs on his arm stood to attention. It was a reaction he didn't expect and one he would like to investigate further. He took the pistol and avoided saying Darla had one very similar, perhaps when this was over. He nodded. "It's a pretty piece Inspector and two bullets is one more than I reckon I'll need."

Pratt felt a crackling warmth when they touched. It was strong enough to touch him through his armor of anger and determination. He couldn't quite control his expression and for a moment there was a flash of raw desire on his face. He sighed deeply and got back in possession of himself. "Just make sure I get it back." He turned to Pryce. "Let's move in." Pryce and a small contingent of the harder constables began surging toward the warehouse, the Inspector in the lead, Alex beside him. 

Entry was through a side door that hung crazily off its hinges. They spred out and crept forward scanning the area with sharp eyes and walking softly as men do bent on clandestine matters. The warehouse was of medium size and empty, although the floor bore marks of heavy boxes having been recently dragged across it. Dust danced in pale shafts of light from the grimy windows and pools of light slanted across the floor. At the far end a flight of wooden stairs lead to the upper storey and they made their way toward it. Alex and Pratt moved side by side, treading kitten soft and alert for any movement or sound. The atmosphere heavy and tense, laden with expectation. Abruptly a piercing scream came from above rending a tear in the fabric of quiet.

They raced up the stairs to the second floor. Inside the room Dr. Mears had Darla strapped down to table not unlike the one in his basement. From appearances he and the giant with him had just managed to strap her down and Mears had started slicing away her clothes with a sharp knife. As the door burst open, both Mears and the giant whirled. Mears climbed onto the table, holding Darla's hair and a knife to her throat. The giant picked up a large spiked club and came at them. 

Alex and Pratt stumbled into the room, Pryce on their heels. Alex straightened himself and raised his pistol at the giant and without issuing a warning, fired. He hit the man in the shoulder and although he faltered he kept coming, he fired again at his chest. The giant staggered but righted himself with a grunt and swung his club.

Pratt saw the apparently superhuman giant resist the bullets of the small caliber pistol and drew down on him with his revolver. His first shot caught him in the arm holding the club and spun him a bit. The club clattered to the floor as Pratt sent two more into his chest, and the giant let out a massive groan as he collapsed to the floor with a prodigious thump. 

Alex pushed the empty pistol into the top of his pants and raised his hands in a placating fashion and edged toward Mears. "Let her go doctor, you've nothing to gain by killing her."

Mears gave a nasty grin. "I've nothing to lose either." His eyes flickered between Alex and the other men in the room, insanity shining in their depths.

Alex edged nearer. "Come on doctor, you can save your neck from the hangman's noose with a plea of insanity. But if you kill her you know you won't leave this room alive."

Mears snorted. "Spend the rest of my life in Bedlam Dr. Harris, I don't think so. My reign is more glorious than Jack's and it's only fitting I go down in a hail of bullets, but I'll take this harlot with me."

Alex eyes flicked to his aunt, she looked suitably furious but thankfully held her tongue. It was all a question of timing and Pratt's accuracy. Could he make the lunge and pull the knife from Darla's throat before he made the cut? Could Pratt, in that instant shoot to kill? His scalp prickled and the air crackled with tension. His eyes flicked again to Darla and hers widened a fraction, telling him to do it.

It happened in a blur and flurry of movement. Alex lunged and his fingers cuffed Mears' arm in a steely grip and he yanked it from Darla's throat. Mears sensing all was lost and determined to take someone with him, stabbed wildly at Alex. A single shot rang out and Mears crumpled to the floor, a bullet through the head.

The knife was so sharp that Alex didn't realize he'd been sliced across the abdomen until he felt the trickle of warm blood. He sensed the wound wasn't deep and pulled his jacket together to hide the spreading red stain.

Pratt let out a huge sigh of relief as his shot hit the doctor perfectly in the head. The madman was dead. The others ran in and Pryce started sort them out to their jobs. The Inspector looked at Alex and slowly lowered his gun. He gestured slightly with his head towards the door, and he moved out, sure that Alex would follow. They went to a smaller room well down the hallway and William grabbed Alex by the lapels and shook him. "What were you thinking doing a foolish thing like that for? He could have killed you." The deed done, all William could think about was how worried he was for Alex. 

"I had to do something to get the knife from Darla's throat. Even if you'd shot him, with it there reflex action means he could still have cut her." He pulled the pistol from his pants and looked at it."Uh, I got blood on your pretty pistol, sorry." He held it out to him.

William blinked as he looked at the bright red blood on the pistol. "You're bleeding?" 

"There's no need to have a conniption." Alex opened his jacket and looked down. "Will you look at that, ruined my waistcoat. Caught me across the abdomen with that blade of his. Looks worse than it is, bleeding's all but stopped." He said casually. "Nothing but a scratch really, don't even need stitches."

"Nothing but a scratch..." William's voice trailed off. "You could have been killed, you crazy American, you cowboy, you..." William couldn't restrain himself. It had been too much, this whole day, all the tension, all the touching, all this emotion. He grabbed Alex and pushed him against the nearest wall, kissing him fiercely. One hand moved as if of its own volition to stroke over the bare skin of his abdomen. 

Alex back hit the wall and his first reaction was to push back until William's lips crushed his in a ferocious kiss. His mouth sealed his, his skin swept with heat and fire ignited in his veins. The man could kiss, just shy of being too forceful but yet possessive and claiming. William's lips moved against his and the touch of his hand on his abdomen made his lips part in a gasp. William's tongue swept in and invaded his mouth with plunging licks and he was kissing back. It didn't matter where they were, only that William was kissing him. His arms came around him and he pushed into him trying to get deeper into the kiss.

William felt the responding passion, Alex pushing back against him. It was like fireworks in his brain, the realization that Alex returned his lust, at least, and perhaps more. Their bodies were pressed together, not a bit of light to be seen between them as they kissed so passionately, so hungrily. William couldn't think, completely forgot time and location. That is until the door opened and Pryce was there. "Inspector I..." He stopped. "You're busy Sir, I see, your earliest convenience," he said as he looked down and quickly closed the door. William pulled back from the kiss, shame-faced. 

Alex blinked and took in William's shameful expression. He tried to pull his scattered wits together. He cleared his throat. "Is this where you tell me this, " he gestured between them, "was all a mistake? Because it didn't feel like a mistake, not to me."

William shook his head. "No. not a mistake." He took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Just not here with a score of constables down the hall. Anyone else but Pryce and we'd both be ruined." He looked at Alex with a heated expression. "Not a mistake." 

Alex straightened his clothes and his hat while his racing heart steadied. "Fair enough, good point. We've probably already given Pryce nightmares." His lips twitched into a smile.

William chuckled softly. "I daresay we have." He reached out a hand to rest lightly on Alex's shoulder. "We have things to talk about later." He could feel his whole body warm from the kiss. "Somewhere more private, I think." 

Alex smiled, his whole body tight and awash with muted anticipation. He lay his hand over William's. "I'd say that's a mighty good idea........................"

~~~***~~~~

Here ends the first story in the 'WHITECHAPEL' series. More coming soon! 


End file.
